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ADVENTURES 


OF 

An Enthusiast 

BY 

ERNEST EVERETT DAY 



THE TRI-STATE PUBLISHING CO. 
Excelsior, Minnesota 
1907 


All Rights Reserved 


j of 00f^f!^35 1 


Two ■OooiS'S^ HyCOived 

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I 7 j /^cy 

i CUSS ^ XKCm No. 
!! / 33 ^ZJ 

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Cepyrj^ht 


Copyright. I9()T. 

In the United States and Great Britain 
BY ERNEST EVERETT DAY. 



TO 

yiY WIFE 



ADVENTURES OF AN ENTHUSIAST 


CHAPTER ONE 
The Coming of Don Quixote 

Among tile passengers who reached the Canal 
street depot, Chicago, one November evening in 
18 — , was a modern Don Quixote. In calling 
him a modern Don Quixote, there is no intention 
to jirejudice the reader at the very beginning of 
this story, but rather to state the opinion which 
many of his relatives and friends had of his trip 
to Chicago and his intentions after arriving. 

It may be of interest to know that he had come 
from one of the eastern states, but that fact had 
little or nothing to do with his adventures. 

It was his first experience in a large city, and 
his impression as he stood in the door way of 


2 


the depot and looked out on Canal street was 
one of fear and bewilderment. He had never 
heard such a pandemonium. The edge of the 
sidewalk was lined with hotel runners and cab- 
men, each apparently trying to outshout the 
otlier. A tall red haired runner with a stubby 
red moustache, who stood by a pillar, was the 
first to see the state of mind of the young man 
in tb.e do arvray and, pointing his finger at him, 
rais{Ml his raucous voice several degrees louder, 
even above the noise of the wagons, busses and 
cabs on the street, and the cries of the other 
runners, and shouted : 

am the man you are looking for young fel- 
low I Come with me I I’ll take you to the best ho- 
tel in the city.’’ 

It must be confessed that the young man 
standing there with the crowd hurrying past him 
in and out of the depot and gazing about, half 
dazed by the unfamiliar sights and sounds, look- 
ed to be a country greenhorn indeed. His soft 
felt hat though new was evidently a size or more 
too large for him and came down not far from 


3 


his ears, and while at the same time it was set 
too far back on his head. On his left arm he 
(‘arried an overcoat that a close observer, in the 
glare of the lights, would have seen had been 
carefully placed so as to show the lining, which 
made a more presentable appearance than the 
outside of the coat, which bare evidence of more 
than one winter’s wear. In his right hand he 
carried an oil cloth valise, also much the worse 
for wear. His collar was of paper, although he 
liad two linen ones in his valise, wliile his black 
suit had the glaze which comes from much wear 
and showed by the cut and hang the cheap ready- 
made of the period. 

The shoes and the tie were the only evidence 
that the young man was not quite as much 
of a green-horn as lie at first ai)i)eared. The 
shoes were custom made and fit like a glove. 
They had cost him six dollars which he had 
(‘arned by the sweat of his brow in the har- 
vest field. It was true that they were in need 
of blacking, but that he could soon remedy when 
h(^ got by hims(^lf as he carried both brusli and 


4 


blacking in the oil cloth valise. At first he did 
not realize that the red haired runner was point- 
ing and shouting at him, and made no reply. Then 
he saw that he was attracting the attention of 
the crowd, and so came to a decision that he 
would follow the crowd, which was hurrying in 
the direction of what he afterwards learned was 
Madison Street. 

Tlie red haired runner seeing his green-horn 
about to escape him, looked quickly to see if any 
policeman was in sight, then sprang upon the 
pavement, seized the young man’s arm with one 
hand, the handle of the oil cloth valise with the 
otlier and shouted almost in his €‘ar, ^‘Come with 
me, I tell you!” 

The newcomer was not prepared for such tac- 
tics, and had given up his valise, from surprise, 
when he turned in a flash from the runner, jerk- 
ed his valise away and giving the bold fellow a 
flasli from his eyes, that showed they could 
flash when need be, said, ^AVhat’s the matter 
with you? I know where I am going and it is not 
with you. Get back where you belong, or I’ll re- 


5 

port YOU.’’ 

Tlie runner was surprised in his tnrn and, see- 
ing the station policeman coming down the 
stairs from the waiting room, growled out some- 
thing which the young man took for an oath 
and sprang back into his place by the iron pil- 
lar. 

The young man saw the policeman the next 
instant and had half a mind to bring charges 
against the runner, but contented himself with 
giving him another look, and asking the police- 
man the nearest route to the Northwestern depot. 

The officer gave the directions and advised 
tliat he take a bus, which would cost only a half 
drdlar, and would land him safely at his destina- 
tion. The young man thanked him, but felt cer- 
tain that he could find his way and preferred to 
walk. The ]ml iceman thought, as he looked him 
over, guess your’e one of the cheap kind,’’ and 
the thought showed so plainly in his face that 
the young man felt hurt. ^^Yes,” he said to him- 
self, as he walked toward Madison Street, am 
a cheap fellow all right. I have just five dollars 


6 


to my name, but I’m trusting the Lord to give 
me some more.” None the less his feelings were 
hurt, and the pain did not cease until he Imd 
reached the river, found the draw bridge open 
and was so interested in the novel sight of a 
large vessel passing through the draw that he 
forgot for the moment that he was one of the 
cheap kind with only five dollars in his pocket. 

He was one of the first to step upon the bridge 
as it swung back into place after the passage of 
the steamer, and stopped half way across to 
look north, down the river and then at the dark 
water below. He had read and heard so much 
about the Chicago river of that day that he was 
disappointed not to be able to see the dirt and 
grease for which the river was so notorious. He 
could not help thinking that any one must be 
miserable indeed to deliberately choose such a 
grave. 

Then he rememebred that he had eaten noth- 
ing but a piece of balogna since morning, and al- 
so that he had forgotten to inquire the time when 
his train left the Northwestern depot for the 


7 


suburb where his friend lived. It would never do, 
he thought, to put his friend’s wife to the 
trouble of getting him a late dinner. He 
must dine in the city if the very humble meal 
which he could afford could be called dining. 

By inquiring of another policeman whom he 
met, he found his way to a restaurant on Frank- 
lin street, and waited impatiently for his order 
of a small steak. He had eaten but little when 
he realized that the meat was evidently tainted, 
and could eat no more. Again he was reminded 
that he was one of the cheap kind and in trying 
to save money he had entered a restaurant which 
served cheap meats. He made no protest, feeling 
that it was worse than useless, paid his check 
and hurried on to the station only to find that 
the last train had gone for his friend’s, five min- 
utes before. 

There was but one thing to do, stay in the 
city over night. He had seen the lights of what 
seemed to him quite a respectable looking hotel, 
a short distance north, on Wells street, entered it 
secured a room, paid for it and was shown at 


8 


once to his room. 

As the bell boy closed the door of the small 
bedroom, Allan turned the key, placed a chair 
against the door, a precaution which he had been 
advised to take when in the city and then thre^^' 
himself on his knees by the bed and looking up 
with folded hands prayed. 

‘‘Now, Lord, here I am,’’ he whispered, “I’ve 
come to Chicago because I thought you wanted 
me to ; you know that it isn’t my plan. I wanted 
very much to go my own way, but it seemed to me 
that you wanted me to come and here I am. I 
have just four dollars and sixty cents left and 
if you want me to stay here, show me, please, how 
to make some more. If you don’t show me that 
then show me, Lord, what you do want me to 
do, and I’ll do it the best I can if you’ll help me. 

For over half an hour he continued to whis- 
per to an unseen presence, and then, feeling utter- 
ly weary from his long journey, went to bed but 
not to sleep. The noise of trains and switch en- 
gines so near by, the horse cars, and vehicles on 
the street under his window, and the sound of 


9 


people passing his door every few moments were 
all too strange and unusual to permit him to 
sleep even if the efforts of his distressed stomach 
to digest or throw off the bad meat of his dinner, 
to say nothing of his own thoughts, would have 
permitted. 

Over and over his mind returned to what his 
old friend. Doctor Barclay, had said: ‘‘And so 
you would be a modern Don Quixote, would you? 
He fought windmills but you are going to chase 
chimaeras.’^ Also the last thing the Doctor had 
said before he bade him good-bye: 

“Allan, do you want to know’ my candid opin- 
ion of W'hat you are going to do. Well, I think 
you are the biggest fool for your size that I 
know. There are plenty of young fellows who 
are not good for anything else, but certainly you 
have some brains and jonWe in you the mak- 
ing of a good general practitioner. Besides I offer 
you a chance that most any other young man 
would jump at, and you refuse it all for the 
sake of a notion.’’ 

Allan remembered how hard the old man had 


10 


tried to speak lightly, as if it were rather a joke, 
but the earnestness of his tones belied the light- 
ness of his manner. Yes, the Doctor had been 
very kind to him. He had offered to lend him 
the money to go through medical school and, af- 
ter his graduation, a partnership. ^‘Doctors 
Harclay & Fairly, Physicians and Surgeons,” 
would have looked well on a sign in front of 
that office in the city. What if the old Doctor 
was right. He certainly was a man of good judg- 
ment in both his profession and as a business 
man. Was it not altogether probable that his 
judgment was sound in this case also. “The 
biggest fool I know,” he had repeated, and per- 
haps after all, he was right. 

It certainly would have been nice to know 
just where the needed money was to come from 
to buy text books, and pay other expenses. He 
would not have needed to turn the lining of his 
overcoat out in order to hide the outside. He 
would not have needed to wear a ready made 
suit glossy with use. And then, to step at once 
into a share of a practice of ten thousand a 


11 


year, that was certainly worth considering. 
Many young doctors waited years before they 
became self supporting. And this certainty he 
had refused for an uncertainty, no, not an un- 
certainty but a certainty. Instead of a fat pock- 
et book he had at that moment just four dollars 
and ten cents. And that was only a foretaste of 
what he might expect all the rest of his life. It 
had been one of his fondest ambitions to have 
a liome of his own, and a competence for old age, 
and, now, he could hope to have neither. Certain- 
ly it did look as if he were a fool, even though 
he could not claim to be the biggest fool of the 
old Doctor’s acquaintance. After all, had the 
Doctor said anything but what the vast major- 
ity of people would call the soundest common 
sense. It was Franklin was it not, who said, 
“The Lord helps those who help themselves.’’ 
(’ould there be such a thing as special providence 
or was the whole world, and the stars about, sub- 
ject to the same law of grab and get and keep. 
Was there no need and no place for the altruist 
in this world of business and common sense? 


12 


But where would the old world be morally to- 
day, he questioned, if there had not been men who 
in all walks of life had followed in the foot- 
steps of the supreme altruist and counted not 
their lives dear unto them for the sake of truth 
and right. He was taking chances, he knew; he 
would certainly lose much that he held dear, but 
he stood a chance, he was certain, to gain some- 
thing so much better and greater, that he was 
willing to take the risk. 

It was nearly tw^o o’clock before the roar of 
the street and the sound of the footsteps in the 
hall permitted him to sleep and then he w^as wak- 
ened before daylight in the morning by the return 
of the noises. As sleep was no longer possible 
he arose, gave thanks that his life had been 
spared through the night, and prepared to take 
the first train to his friend’s home. As he put 
on his hat by the light of the gas he saw for the 
first time something of how much too large his 
hat seemed to be. ^^My!” he said aloud, ‘^do I 
look like that!” What was he thinking of to buy 
a hat so much too large? He remembered that he 


13 

had been so fearful that he’d miss the train for 
Chicago that he had paid too little attention to 
the tit of his new hat. Several strips from the 
newspaper in the valise improved matters some- 
what, but he could see that the hat was by no 
means becoming to him. Was he not making 
good Doctor Barclay’s words, ^^The biggest fool.” 


14 


' CHAPTER TWO 

The School of the Prophets 

Before noon of that day, Allan Fairly was in- 
stalled as a member of the Junior class, of the 
Great Western Theological Seminary. He had 
frankly told Professor Woodruff that he had 
only a few dollars left, and would be compelled 
to work his way. He felt, he said, that if the 
Lord really wished him to take the course, He 
would show him how to get along. If not, he 
would consider it evidence that he had been mis- 
taken, and return to the farm and to his country 
school teaching. 

The Professor was very kind, evidently making 
allowance for Allan’s youth and inexperience, 
and assured him that a way would no doubt be 
found if he proved himself worthy. A room 


15 


would be given him in one of the dormitories, and 
doubtless, some one of the students would help 
him find a good boarding house. Very probably, 
something would be found for him to do so tliat 
he could earn his way. 

The boarding house was found, the first week’s 
board paid in advance, the necessary text books 
purcliased, and Allan liad just tliirty cents re- 
maining. But he did not worry. He said to 
himself that he would be only too glad, in one 
sense, to be convinced that his call to the semin- 
ary was all a mistake, and that his conscience 
would permit him to write Doctor Barclay for 
the necessary fundvS, enter some medical school 
in the city and expect smooth sailing. 

He found the atmosphere of the school very 
delightful. The morning ])rayer meetings, the 
daily chapel exercivses, the opening of each lec- 
ture or recitation witli prayer, were all so new 
and strange, that it seemed to him at first like a 
foretaste of heaven. 

It was only after some months, that he real- 
ized tliat human nature was still human nature, 


16 


even in a school of the prophets. One evening 
during that first week his room mate, a senior, 
told him of the latest joke on Jones, a middler. 
Jones was greatly interested in a young lady sev- 
eral blocks away from the school, and spent so 
much time there that his lessons for the next day 
suffered in consequence. A night or two before, 
he had been unusually late, even for Jones, and 
the lecture on church history received scant 
attention. It was Jones’ luck, so Watkins said, 
to be called upon to recite the next day when he 
was least prepared. 

^Olr. Jones!” said the Professor of Ecclesias- 
tical history looking down his list. 

Mr. Jones rose to his feet, and tried to con- 
centrate his sleepy faculties. 

^^Would you give us, Mr. Jones please, St. 
PauFs second missionary journey?” 

Mr. Jones was glad, for the moment. He re- 
membered something about that at least, and 
started with much assurance. 

^Taul and his companion, Silas, passed 
through Cilicia, from Cilicia they went to — 


17 


Derbe — ” but Mr. Jones' confidence in his mem- 
ory was beginning to fail. He hesitated a mom- 
ent searching in his memory for the lost name. 

^^And then — ” said Mr. Jones and again hes- 
itated. 

The Professor was kind and asked by way of 
encouragement, ''Well Mr. Jones, where did they 
go then?” 

But that was just the difficulty. Mr. Jones 
could not tell where they had gone and so con- 
tented himself with saying: 

"And then — and then — .” 

"Well, Mr. Jones, where did they go then?” 

"And then, — and then — ” continued Mr. 
Jones in desperation — "they journeyed on !” The 
class roared with laughter and the Professor, 
who enjoyed a joke as much as any of the stud- 
ents, repressed a smile that threatened to broad- 
(‘n into a laugh and said : 

"That will do for the present, Mr. Jones.” Mr. 
Jones sat down hastily wiping his forehead. He 
had not noticed before that the lecture room was 


so warm. 


18 


The story was soon all over the school and 
^Ir. Jones' account of Paul's second missionary 
journey was considered the best joke of the year. 
It was not without its touch of tragedy, however, 
for sometime the next week it was suddenly no- 
ticed that Mr. Jones' name was not called in 
class, and that his room was vacant. Some 
claimed to have good reason for thinking that 
Mr. Jones' case had come up before the faculty, 
and he was advised that it was hardly worth his 
while to remain in school and that therefore he 
had followed the example of the great apostle 
and — ‘‘journeyed on.’’ 

Toward the latter part of that first week Allan 
began to think that he also would need to jour- 
ney on for lack of funds to pay his board and 
laundry. Nothing had as yet given any promise 
of means of support. He told his troubles to 
Professor Woodruff, who encouraged him to hold 
on and something would turn up, he was certain. 

It was Sunday afternoon that something did 
turn up, and so unexpectedly, that Allan regard- 
ed it as a special providence in his behalf. As 


19 


he was coming down the dormitory stairs, he 
met a man in middle life who stopped him with 
the question : 

^^Plave you ever preached any?’’ 

''Never even tried,” said Allan. 

"Would you like to try tonight? I am the 
Superintendent of the Missionary Society, and I 
want a man to preach for me tonight at a mission 
straight south along this street. If you’ll go. I’ll 
give you five dollars.” 

Allan promised to do his best, and after receiv- 
ing explicit directions, returned to his room to 
have his room mate tell him what to do and say. 
Watkins laughed at him, told him to make his 
own sermon, tell his experience, if necessary, and 
put up a bold front. 

With only ten cents in his pocket, Allan de- 
cided that he would be compelled to walk one 
way at least. It would be better to take the 
street cars coming home, and so he walked 
the five miles directly south from the seminary. 
He started early, without his supper, and after 
many inquiries found the little mission room 


20 


a Iialf hour before the time for services. 

He had not realized how tired and ]iun,i>Ty he 
was, until he rose before the congregation, wliich 
almost filled tlie room, and tried to lead the ser- 
vice. He was so nervous and frightened as he 
arose to preach that it seemed to him the room 
was stifling. He stopped, while the janitor let 
down one of the windows near by, but that did 
not solve the difSculty and, after what seemed to 
him an hour or an hour and a half, he closed, 
well pleased to find a stopping place. He had 
])ut up as bold a front as he could, walked tlie 
|)latform back and forth, both sawed and clawed 
the air , as he told Watkins afterward, but all to 
no purpose. His subject was ‘‘One Thing I 
Know,” but he seriously questioned, on his way 
home, whether he knew even that or, at least, 
liad convinced the congregation of workingmen, 
their wives and children, of that fact. 

They evidently took the will for the deed, for 
they invited him to return the next Sunday even- 
ing, which Watkins assured him, was certainly 
very kind of them. The next day the Superin- 


21 


temlent came and paid him the five dollars, and 
SO provision was made for the next week^s board 
and laundry, and also a little for incidental ex- 
penses. 

For several weeks he supplied the little mission 
church, and then they apparently had enough of 
him, and he was not invited to return. This 
surprised and hurt him, but he compelled himself 
to admit that they doubtless had good reason, 
as they could get someone who could speak much 
better. The five dollars each week had kept the 
pot boiling, he told Watkins, and each one was a 
special providence. 

The overcoat, however, was getting still shab- 
bier and the weather so cold that he was com- 
pelled to wear it even though he imagined every 
man and woman he met on the street stared at 
him and took him for a tramp. Again he went 
to Prof. Woodruff and again there was a remark- 
able coincidence. The very day before, the Pro- 
fessor had receH^ed an inquiry from a young man 
who wished a tutor for a few weeks in prepara- 
tion for a teachers’ examination. Had Mr. Fair- 


22 


ly ever studied the subject? He had and was con- 
fident he could teach it for a few weeks at least. 
Three lessons a week, at a dollar a lesson, was 
enough to pay his board, but there was still the 
laundry and incidentals to say nothing of the 
overcoat. 

This difficulty Avas solved by a benevolent 
gentleman giving a certain amount of money, for 
the gatliering of statistics of the religious con- 
dition of a certain district in the city. Allan was 
chosen as one of the workers, and, to his sur- 
I)rise, the benevolent gentleman paid for the 
work, forty dollars, in advance. 

And so the OA^ercoat was provided for, and a 
substantial balance for the future. Another co- 
incidence, do you say? Very possibly, but to 
Allan it aa us another special providence. 

It would doubtless be both proper and fitting 
to be able to say that Allan showed remarkable 
qualities as a student, but the facts Avill not per- 
mit such a flight of the imagination. Watkins 
said he was a “poor” student, and, said it Avith a 
grin, but, aside from the fact that he was poor in 


23 


purse the jibe was not entirely just. His mind had 
never been trained, and, though gifted with a re- 
tcuitive memory, he was lacking in tiie steady, 
plodding application which characterizes the 
scholar. At times, he surprised his professors by 
the excellence of his recitations, and again, by 
the very opposite (jualities. He was thus a 
poor student in more than one sense. 

And yet, he learned a great deal more than he 
or anyone else realized at the time, a great deal 
that was not in the books. The daily contact 
with faculty and students was to him a reve- 
lation of what men could know and be. Among 
them all, no single man influenced him more for 
good than Charlie Blythe, a classmate, who 
was always cheery and helpful with a kind word, 
and a smile for even such a ^^poor^’ student as 
Allan. His prayers in the morning prayer- 
meeting, his talks in the various meetings of the 
class, his wholesome laugh, his sweet spirit, were 
with Allan, and others also, a refined and abiding 
influence for good. 

One day Allan learned he was no exception to 


24 

the rule that human nature was still human na- 
ture, even in a theological seminary. It came 
about in this way. 

Jake Young, one of the upper class men, was 
fond of what he called fun. His idea of fun con- 
sisted in knocking off a fellow student’s hat, or 
striking him on the arm or chest, or pinching 
liiin as they passed in the hall ways. He seemed 
to think Allan an excellent subject for such at- 
tentions, and carried the matter so far that Allan 
was quite annoyed and half disposed to lose his 
temper over the matter. He talked with Wat- 
kins about it, asking whether he should request 
Jake to stop it. 

^^Not much, Fairly,” said Watkins, ^Make 
don’t mean any harm, but you take that tack 
and he’ll be ten times worse for he’ll think you 
are afraid of him. I’ll tell you what; the next 
cime he takes your biceps for a i)unching bag, 
liaul off and hit back ! Don’t lose your temper, 
don’t say a word, but try your triceps on him, 
ond see how he likes his own kind of fun.” 

“O, I couldn’t do that, Watkins,” said Allan 


25 


much surprised at such advice, would be a 
disgrace for men in the seminary to get into a 
fight.’’ 

‘^No fight at all, Fairly, just an exchange of 
pleasantries. Jake has fun with you, and you 
have fun with Jake. A mere exchange of pleas- 
antires, that’s all.” 

Allan was not satisfied with that statement 
of the matter, and decided that he would have 
to go further for advice or bear with Jake’s horse 
])Iay a little longer. 

It happened, that very evening, as he and 
Watkins went to dinner that they met Jake in 
the lower hall just returning from his dinner, 
and more than usually full of play. The weather 
was quite cold, and Allan had on his overcoat 
and mittens. 

^‘Hello, Fairly!” said Jake, as they met in the 
hall, ^‘How are you tonight?” at the same time 
landing a blow on the chest. Allan, to his own 
great surprise, made no reply, but returned the 
blow with interest, while Watkins grinned. 

^‘Oho, that’s your game is it?” said Jake danc- 


26 


ing around, and sparring for an opening. 

Allan made no reply, for he now realized that 
his temper was almost gone, but after thej^ had 
exchanged a slight blow or two caught Jake off 
his guard, rushed in and landed on Jake’s side in 
a way that sent that worthy against the wall 
before he could recover himself, while Watkiu’s 
grin was now a laugh. 

you will, will you!” said Jake, recovering 
himself and again sparring for an opening. He 
still did not realize that Allan was hitting rather 
seriously, but was in great good humor. Allan 
was now thoroughly angry and resolved that 
he would give Jake enough of his own medicine 
for once, and, when another opportunity came, 
threw his whole weight into a blow that sent 
Jake reeling against the stair way at the end of 
the hall. 

The fun was all over. Jake picked himself 
up without a word and ascended the stairs while 
Watkins and Allan continued on their way, Wat- 
kins laughing, while Allan was still too angry 
to realize what he had done or to repent of his 


27 


anger. Then came a revulsion of feeling. 

am asliamed of mj^self, Wat,” he said. ^^It 
was a disgraceful thing. Why I was fighting 
mad, and was only sorry I could not hit him with 
my l)are fist. The idea of two men in the theo- 
logical seminary to say nothing about two Christ- 
ian men, engaging in such a disgraceful affair. 
I will apologize to Brother Young when I get 
back from dinner." 

^^DonT you do it Fairly! doiiT you do it,” 
said Watkins earnestly ^^or you’ll have to do the 
thing all over again. I tell you that is the only 
kind of a hint that Jake really understands. 
You’ll find that he will not be so free with his 
hands after this.” 

It was only after considerable argument that 
Allan could be pursuaded to let the matter rest, 
for a while, at least, but his conscience was un- 
easy on the subect for several days, until he was 
convinced that Jake harbored no ill feeling and 
had indeed learned to modify his idea of fun. 

The lesson was a revelation to Allan of the 
possibilities of his own heart, and it was a lesson 


28 


that he never forgot. He never doubted, from 
that day, the real existance of the old Adam in 
his nature, and while he and Jake never became 
fast friends, they at least treated each other with 
Christian courtesy. 


CHAPTER THREE. 

The ^oap Box Pulpit 

A little (‘liiirch had been organized at Yellow 
i^j>i'ings, some tAventy miles out from the city, a 
(diurch of eight members, six women and two 
men. The missionary society AA^as looking for 
a man to supply it on Sundays, Watkins said, 
but as the pay was small and the conditions hard 
no one had, as yet, applied for the position. 

AAmnder if T could fill the bill,” said Allan. 

I guess they are in about the same fix as 
the old maid praying for a husband. It’s a case of 
‘anybody Lord.’ ” 

Allan applied and as there was no one else, 
the Superintendent AA‘as glad to send him. So 
the next Saturday afternoon found him getting 
off the train at the village of YelloAV Springs. 
He Avas taken to the Worthington farm near the 
village and soon found that his appetite for farm 
cooking had not lost its edge. Mrs. Worthington 
and her two daughters were famous cooks, and 
Allan had many opportunities of demonstrating 
that their fame rested upon a foundation of fact. 


30 


The Yellow Springs church held its meetings 
in a hall over a general store. The hall was used 
for dances, and other social gatherings, during 
the week, and for church on Sundays. Several 
of the window panes had been broken out in part 
or in Avhole, so that there was no lack of ventila- 
tion and, if that were not enough, there was no 
door leading from the outside stairway to the 
hell I, excepting at the foot of the stairway, and 
though the stairway was covered, the draughts 
from the door as well, as from the windows gave 
the very small congregation a continual remind- 
er of the state of the weather outside. Less than 
a dozen chairs, two or three old benches maae 
lip the seats of the hall which deficiency was 
supplied by placing boards upon the chairs, 
when curiosity or other reasons added to the size 
of the congregation. The stove was old and asth- 
matic and although it did not wheeze, it certain- 
ly had hard work to breathe, and often refused 
to do so, excepting when the wind was in a par- 
ticular direction and the weather conditions 
were otherwise favorable. For that reason, if 


31 


no other, the room was often partially if not en- 
tirely filled with smoke and seldom for the first 
week, or so, did those in attendance fail to get-a 
cool reception. A number of times Allan preached 
with his overcoat on, thrusting his hands into 
his overcoat pockets every few moments to keep 
them warm, while the little congregation got as 
near tlie stove as they could, and kept shawls, 
overcoats and wraps tight around them. There 
was no choir, excepting as the congregation sang 
and Miss Worthington played the baby organ. A 
soap box, placed on top of a small and rickety 
stand, formed the pulpit, and Allan soon found 
that while a blow upon the top of the pulpit, 
helped as emphasis, yet he was always in immi- 
nent danger of piling the soap box pulpit in a 
heap on the floor. 

Here, certainly, was need for all of the courage 
and enthusiasm in Allan’s nature, and the little 
church soon showed that they too were not 
lacking in that respect. Mr. Worthington, al- 
though not a member of the church i)roved him- 
self a host. An old door was found on the farm 


32 


and fitted at the head of the stairway, broken 
window panes were repaired or replaced by new 
ones, and several valiant attempts were made to 
('lire the stove of its bad habits, but these, alas, 
were in vain. The landlord all the while refus- 
ing to make any repairs. Why should he, he 
reasoned; his was the only hall in the town. It 
was plainly a case of take it or leave it. 

And yet, in spite of all these disadvantages, 
the little church and the preacher with his soap 
box pulpit, were full of hope and courage. The 
small congregation became larger, even though 
it never filled the hall excepting on the rarest 
occasions. And so they resolved to save money 
to build a little church, and the first social 
function to aid in that was an oyster supper. 
It was too bad that they scorched the oyster 
stew, they had had little experience in cooking 
oysters, but the cakes and pies made up for it, 
and Mrs. Worthington’s sponge cake, with choco- 
late frosting, was in such great demand that the 
supply, generous as it had been, was soon ex- 
hausted. Ten dollars was cleared after all ex- 


33 


penses, and this small nest egg was laid away 
for the new church building. New members 
were added one by one, and soon there were as 
many as fifteen enrolled. 

But, as winter passed and spring approached 
a dark cloud arose in the horizon of the soap box 
pulpit. Over and over, Allan was told that it 
would be impossible to have church during the 
summer months, and over and over the reason 
given was on account of the great and notorious 
Yellow Springs picnic grounds, less than a mile 
from the hall. 

Every Sunday during the warm weather, he 
was told, a picnic was held there under the man- 
agement of one of Chicago’s leading politicians 
and business men. About midnight, each Satur- 
day night, hundreds of vehicles of various kinds, 
express wagons, coal wagons, anything available 
started to make the 18 mile drive from the 
city to Yellow Springs. This overflow consisted 
of the scum of Chicago’s worst district. Drunk- 
ards, thieves, prostitutes flocked to Yellow 
Springs either in vehicles or the long excursion 


34 


trains on the railroad that ran close by the 
grounds. The wagons and other vehicles reached 
the neighborhood of the Springs about daylight 
on Sunday morning, and began a reign of law- 
lessness, the story of which filled Allan’s unso- 
phisticated mind with astonishment, and, let us 
add, with righteous indignation. 

These unwelcome visitors raided the farms 
along their way, robbed the orchards and, not 
content with that, broke great limbs off the 
trees, chased or shot the chickens in the barn 
yards, not hesitating to carry off good sized pigs 
from the pen, and, if the farmer dared to protest, 
threatened him with firearms or deluged him 
with the vilest abuse. When they reached the 
picnic grounds, as they did by the thousands, 
then all law and order was forgotten, and the 
lowest and most disgusting forms of drunkenness 
and debauehery reigned supreme. No decent or 
respectable men or women ventured on the road 
on Sundays and the majority of the farmers 
guarded homes and stock with shot guns. 

^AVhy do you submit to it?^’ said Allan in as- 


35 


tonishment, and was told that they did not dare 
do anything’ else. The owner of the grounds 
was a prominent politician and back of him were 
the brewers and distillers of the great city with 
both money and power enough to crush anyone 
who dared to make an effective protest. 

“But why are the brewers and liquor dealers 
so interested?’- Allan asked in his ignorance. 

“Why don't you see, Mr. Fairly, they sell their 
beer and whiskey by the carload, every Sunday, 
say nothing of what they sell during the week." 

“Well,” said Allan with a sigh, “I see no other 
way but we must give them a fight.” “It would 
be madness,” said ^fr. Worthington, kindly but 
firmly. “They'd crush us as you would an egg 
shell. They have both parties under their 
thumb, and all kinds of money, while we are only 
a little handful, without money or influence.” 

“And yet we're in the right, my brother,” said 
Allan, his courage rising. “We have law arid or- 
der on our side; we have the consciences of all 
good men on our side; yes, the consciences of this 
man Timmins and of the brewers are on our side; 


36 


and then, Brother Worthington,^^ Allan added, 
softly, — ^^we have God on our side.*’ 

^^But God doesn^t seem to count for much 
against the saloon power of Chicago,” said Mr. 
Worthington without thought of irreverence, 
and laughed at the shocked expression on the 
faces of his wife and daughters. 

know,” said Allan,” it does seem so, and yet 
it cannot be so. The difficulty must all be on our 
side of the matter. God cannot fail to keep 
his promises. His honor is involved in it just 
as much or more, my brother, as He is greater 
than you or me.” 

^Ir. Worthington said no doubt that was 
true, but, as a practical man, he preferred to 
keep out of a desperate and hopeless fight. He 
could not afford to have his buildings blown up 
or burned down or his stock poisoned. The only 
thing to do, he supposed, was to grin and bear it. 

Allan was forced to admit the practical wis- 
dom of this view, and yet could not help believing 
or at least hoping, that something could be done, 
and that no community, even within twenty miles 


37 


of (Chicago, need submit tamely to such outrages. 

By the middle of March, spring was evidently 
on the way, and word had circulated that Tim- 
mins had applied for a license to sell beer and 
liquor on the Yellow Springs grounds for the 
summer months. Allan was greatly worried. Ap- 
parently the fight was almost, if not entirely 
hopeless and nothing could be done. Certainly 
he could do little or nothing unless the church 
would stand by him, and tliat they were afraid 
to do. He spoke of the matter on Sunday morn- 
ing, and was so indignant that such a condition 
of affairs could be possible, that the soap box 
pulpit more than once trembled to its base. He 
declared himself willing to see what could be 
done if the church and community would give 
him even a partial support. Mr. Worthington 
smiled and shook his head while most of the 
>vomen, young and old, looked worried and anx- 
ious. 

To Allan^s surprise, help and encouragement 
came from an unexpected quarter. Mr. Gruber, 
w ho had lately united with the church, and w ho 


38 


was of such a quiet inoffensive nature that no 
one would have suspected him of being the first 
to come forward in such a cause. 

“If you want to fight that Sunday picnic, Mr. 
Fairly,” he said, “I’ll do all I can to help you.” 

And so, before Allan took the train for the city 
the next morning, he and Mr Gruber had planned 
the first stage of the campaign. They would i)re* 
sent a petition to the Commissioners of Cook 
county, setting forth the nature of the picnic 
and the outrages upon the community, and pro- 
testing in the name of law and order and decency 
against the granting of a license. Mr. Gruber 
felt certain that he could secure the signatures 
of a number of the voters of the village and the 
farmers within miles around, although he feared 
that a number would be too timid to sign itj 
even though they had suffered on account of the 
picnic, for fear of Timmins and the men who 
were his friends. 

Allan suggested that perhaps it would be well 
before circulating the petition, for either Mr. 
Gruber or himself to see Timmins and request 


39 


liim to keep his picnics somewhere within the 
hounds of law and order, during the coming 
summer, as the little church of Yellow Springs 
wished to hold meetings, and under the condi- 
tions that had prevailed for several years, none 
of them could venture on the road on Sundays. 
Mr. Gruber thought it could do no harm although 
he did not think it wise to let Timmins know 
anything of their plan of campaign. 

It so happened that the great Mr. Timmins 
arrived at the Springs that very morning, to 
make some preliminary arrangements about the 
grounds, and Gruber meeting him on the street, 
presented the matter to him in his quiet way. 
Mr. Timmins was very much amused. The idea 
seemed to strike him as being supremely ridic- 
ulous that a little church of only fifteen members 
should presume to raise a protest against his 
doing as he pleased on the Yellow Springs 
grounds, and, for that matter, any where in the 
country for miles around. 

^‘What the devil, Gruber, do you think I care 
for your church people, I’m running that pic- 


40 


II io to make money, and I don’t give a 

whether you people like it or not. And now 
what do you propose to do about it?” 

Mr. Gruber was indignant, even angry, but 
took pains not to let Mr. Timmins know it. 

^^Well, Timmins,” he replied quietly, ‘Ve 
thought we’d speak to you about it, and give you 
a chance to do the right thing. If you w^on’t why 
I guess it’s our first move.” 

Mr. Timmins laughed; it was too amusing for 
anything; he would be glad to know what the 
fools proposed to do in the matter. He had been 
in Chicago politics for twenty years, and the 
idea of the churches cutting any figure, when he 
had the saloons back of him, had never occurred 
to him. He was curious to know what they 
thought they could do. 

But Gruber was noncommittal. Perhaps they 
could do nothing. They would look into the mat- 
ter and find out, and Mr. Timmins would learn 
in due time. And Mr. Timmins, still greatly 
amused, went into Mr. Cropley’s saloon near the 
station, to get a drink, and to talk about the 


41 


fools of church people who imagined they could 
interfere with business, especially his business. 

Now Mr. Cropley’s wife and daughters were 
members of the little church, and they had 
brought word of Allan’s sermon the day before, 
and how he had pounded the soap box in his 
])rotest against the Yellow Springs picnic, and 
the manner in which it was conducted. Mr. 
(^ropley’s saloon was not so far from the pic- 
nic ground but that he received a share of the 
business, to say nothing of what he sold to those 
who came from the city in wagons and ofher 
vehicles. He agreed with Timmins that a little 
church of fifteen people could do nothing, abso- 
lutely nothing, against the great saloon power of 
Chicago. ‘‘But it was too bad none the less to 
have such fools as Gruber and Fairly in the 
community. They would make talk/ even if they 
did not make trouble.” 

Meanwhile, Allan made the matter the subject 
of much earnest prayer and thought. It seemed 
like a hopeless undertaking for their little 
church to even protest against giving Mr. Tim- 


42 


mins a license; but they were in the right, and 
the life of the church was at stake. 

But the case was not nearly so hopeless as 
Mr. fTruber and Allan feared. It so happened 
that, a short time before, Chicago had sent a 
number of the Cook County Commissioners to 
the penitentiary at Joliet. A wave of reform 
swept the county, and the majority of the new 
board was composed of the best men of Chicago, 
leading members of Chicago’s greatest churches, 
superintendents of Sunday Schools, to say noth- 
ing of others. Possibly not before or since have 
the conditions been so favorable as at that time. 

The whole story of the fight against the Yel- 
low Springs license is too long to give in detail. 
Mr. Gruber went quietly to work, and, before 
either Timmins or Cropley knew what was doing, 
had secured a number of signatures of voters, 
both in and about the Yellow Springs requesting 
the honorable board of Cook County Commission- 
ers, in view of the notorious facts, to refuse Mr. 
Timmins petition for a license. Not content with 
that, they carried the war into Africa, and pre- 


43 


pared to have Mr. Timmins arrested, and fined 
for selling liquor on Sunday and also for selling 
to minors. To do this, they must have help, both 
financially and otherwise, and for tliat Allan 
must, if possible, secure the assistance of Long 
Tom Waxworth, whose large farm lay between 
Chicago and the Springs, and whose fruit trees 
and chicken roosts had suffered more than once 
from the depredations of the picnicers. 

^‘Mebbe he wont see yon, Mr. Fairly,’’ said Mr. 
Gruber as they talked the matter over. ^‘You 
see he is confined to his room at his hotel and 
they say doesn’t see anybody, but he can’t more 
thiin say no.'’ 

^^Mr. Waxworth doesn’t see anyone,” said the 
clerk as Allan presented his card with his re- 
quest,’ ’but I’ll send it up and see.” 

But Mr. Waxworth was willing to see Mr. 
Fairly, and Allan soon found himself looking at 
a large heavy set man who leaned back in a rock- 
er with one bandaged foot resting upon a chair. 
He held Allan’s card in his hand. 

^^Are you the preacher that’s fighting those 


44 


8011S of guns out there at Yellow Springs?-’ ask- 
ed Mr. Waxworth in a powerful voice. 

‘M’ni one of them, Mr. Waxworth ” Allan re- 
plied/’ ^^Mr. Gruber has done more than I have.'’ 

yes T know about Gruber, but you’re the 
man that started the fight. Come over here; I 
want to shake hands with you. I always did like 
a man with a backbone; and I guess, from what 
they tell me, that you’ve really got one. Have a 
drink of whiskey,” pointing to a flask and glass- 
es on the stand by his side. 

Allan explained that it was against his prin- 
ciples, with thanks for the invitation, but was 
decidedly ill at ease in the gr^at man's presence. 

^AVell, I won’t lay that up against you,” con- 
tinued Mr. Waxworth. ^‘Whiskey is a kind of 
stuff that won’t hurt you, if you let it alone.” 

^‘Unless you happen to be the wife or child of 
a man who doesn’t let it alone,” said Allan with 
some spirit. 

But the great man only laughed. ‘^That’s just 
like you preachers; you can’t miss an opportun- 
ity of preaching a sermon.” Allan was both con - 


45 


fused and ashamed. beg your pardon, Mr. 
Waxworth, I was thinking of the wives and 
children of drunkards, who never touch drink 
and yet it doesn’t leave them alone.” 

^^No harm done young man,” replied Mr. Wax- 
worth, more quietly, don’t know that my wife 
and children ever suffered because I drink a 
little whiskey, but, of course, there are plenty 
that do. But let’s get down to business. What do 
you want me to do?” 

Allan reviewed what had already been done, 
and explained that now, having the petition 
against the license ready to present to the Com- 
missioners, they wish to have Timmins charged 
with selling to minors, and, also, with breaking 
the law by selling liquor on Sunday. But they 
needed money to prosecute the case, and money 
was a scarce article. They thought, he said, that 
a public conviction would make their case 
against Timmins all the stronger. Mr. Wax- 
worth agreed with their plans, promised a gen- 
erous check if they were in need, and said that 


46 


Ills lawyer would attend to the prosecution of 
Tiiumins for selling to minors. 

^^Let me know if there is anything more that 
I can do for you, young man/’ said Mr. Wax- 
worth as Allan bid him good bye, "greatly pleased 
and encouraged to find sympathy and help in so 
ui)exj)ected a quarter. 

Within a week or two Mr. Timmins no longer 
was S(T very much amused over the situation as 
he had been at first. He was greatly surprised 
to find himself arrested for selling without a 
license, also for selling to minors, still more sur- 
prised to find Mr. Waxworth^s attorney back of 
it. He paid his fines and apparently appealed to 
his powerful friends, the brewers, but was sever- 
al days realizing that this interference with busi- 
ness had all come from the little church of Yel- 
low Springs. It was something so unheard of 
in his experience, that he had the greatest diffi- 
culty in adjusting himself to this remarkable 
fact. 

He was still more surprised to learn that 
there was a hitch of some kind, in the matter of 


47 


ids license at Yellow Springs. That man Gruber 
and that man Fairly had actually presented a 
petition to the Commissioners against his license, 
and the matter was held up in the license com- 
mittee. Then matters began to look serious. 
There was even danger that the committee would 
recommend against his license and that would 
certainlj^ be beyond all precedent. 

It was about this time that there came a great 
]>ressure from somewhere to compel the com- 
mittee to recommend in favo]' of Mr. Timiidn’s 
license, and for the board as a whole to grant it. 
Prominent citizens were moved to talk with cer- 
tain members of the license committee, and 
urge various powerful reasons Avhy the interests 
of either the Republican or Democratic party 
demanded the granting of the license. 

Tlie greater the pressure for the license the 
tinner Allan stood for what he considered the 
demands of law and order. He called upon and 
endeavored to interest every public man in the 
city whose influence might, in any way, count 
against the license. From some of whom he 


48 


expected the most, he got least encouragement; 
and from some of whom he expected nothing, he 
received substantial help. 

At Yellow Springs interest in the fight reached 
the boiling point. It was no longer possible for 
many to be noncomittal. Mr. Worthington sign- 
ed the petition and used his influence to prevail 
upon others to do so. Mr. Cropley was very 
angr}'. He refused to permit his wife and child- 
ren to attend church, swore that Fairly should 
never have a dollar of his money and to crown all 
sent Allan word that he would shoot him on 
sight if he ever came to that part of the town. 

Allan was frightened. The feeling against him 
on the part of those who sympathized with Tim- 
mins and Cropley was very bitter and he did not 
know when they might do him some violence. He 
was warned that more than one man had threat- 
ened him. But Allan did not stop fighting. He 
was, he thought, simply doing his duty, and if 
he were risking his life he was doing no more 
than any good soldier was supposed to do. 

The license committee appointed a time in 
which they would hear the testimony of both 


49 


sides of the controversy. At one end of the room 
in which the committee sat, was Mr. Timmins 
and his witnesses, the sight of anyone of which, 
Allan thought, was enough to condemn his cause, 
while Gruber whispered, ^^A lot of Kridgeport 
toughs.^’ 

At the other end were Allan, Gruber, and the 
witnesses who were bold enough to testify. The 
testimony when all in was entirely against the 
character of the picnic. The committee was as- 
sured that this was only a small part of the evi- 
dence that could be secured if they wished. The 
result was that Mr. Timmins and his witnesses 
were thoroughly beaten and that afternoon the 
committee recommended that the board refuse 
Mr. Timmins’ application for license. 

Allan supposed that the battle was won, but 
soon learned his mistake. When the recommend- 
ation came before the Commissioners Mr. Tim- 
mins and his friends had sufficient influence to 
refer it back to the license committee for recon- 
sideration. 

One member of the license committee, whom 


50 


Allan knew as the Superintendent of the Sunday 
School of the great Seminary church, who had 
stood persistently and courageously against the 
license, took Allan to one side at the next meet- 
ing of the committee and said : 

^^See here. Fairly, you’re stirring up an awful 
muss about this Timmins license. YouVe no 
idea of the pressure they have brought upon the 
board. Isn’t there some way in which this matter 
tain be compromised?^’ 

Allan assured him that he was sorry to make 
trouble but that they simply stood upon their 
rights. The law was on their side and if the com- 
mittee wislied more evidence the}’^ could produce 
tons of it. The facts were simply notorious. 

Again the committee voted against the license, 
and again the Board as a whole referred it back 
for reconsideration. The third time the commit- 
tee voted no, and the third time the Board re- 
ferred it back. The fate of the little Y^ellow 
f^pi iugs cliurch trembled in the balance. 

All the while Allan and the members of his 
ciiuieli were praying as they had never prayed 


51 


before. There was liardlj a conscious moment, 
that Allan was not in his heart praying for the 
Lord to give them the victory. 

At last Mr. Timmins sent one of his friends to 
Allan asking if he would compromise. Allan 
replied that he would. On what conditions? 
Timmins must give a five thousand bond not to 
hold any Sunday picnic at Yellow Springs that 
summer, and agree to respect law and order dur- 
ing the week, and they would withdraw their op- 
position to his license. And so the agreement 
was made, the bond drawn up and signed and the 
notorious Yellow Springs Sunday Picnic, for 
that summer at least, became a thing of the past. 

One Monday morning, as Allan was on his 
way to the station, he i)assed Mr. Timmins and 
two others who were strangers. Timmins turned 
to his companions after Allan had passed and re- 
marked, ^‘That man cost me thousand 

dollars!” The number of thousands Allan did 
not hear, but he had heard enough. The Soai) 
I>ox pulpit had, with the hel}) of God and God's 
people, won a victory even over the great saloon 
power of Chicago. 


CHAPTER FOUR 


ISfyiking TiceJve at Fetaivan 

Soon after the little ehureh at Yellow Springs 
wavS convineed that the Sunday Picnie was in- 
deed a thing of the past, for that summer at least, 
Allan again urged the subject of a building of their 
own, and, encouraged by their recent victory, they 
agreed to see what could be done. 

Mr. Worthington was almost the only one 
who had property but all had what was of still 
greater value, willing hearts. It would be too 
long a story to tell how, in the face of the great- 
est discouragements, with many, who claimed to 
be friends, prophesying certain failure, the neat 
little ( liurch of Yellow Springs was built and 
paid for. How Mr. Merriman, avIio never came to 
church, gave the lot ; how the carpenter wdio did 


53 

the work was willing to trust them for his uion- 
ey; how Mr. Worthington got special prices from 
Chicago lumber dealers on the lumber; how the 
young farmers hauled the lumber the eighteen 
miles from the city in order to save freight; how 
those who had no money gave work, some one 
day and some a week; how Mr. Chester who had 
only one arm, having lost the other under (Trant, 
painted the chui*ch for the first coat as his con- 
tribution ;how they had a concert given by some 
student friends of Allan from the Seminary; 
how they sang a cat song that brought down 
the house; how they had suppers where the peo- 
ple gave the victuals, then came and paid for the 
privilege of eating them. How Mr. Jon(^s, the 
well known and brilliant reader from Howard 
College, who happened to be at the Seminary, 
kindly gave a reading for the benefit of the 
church; and how the young people sold tickets 
for the reading all over the country round about 
and even on the suburban trains going into the 
city; and how as a result of Mr. Jones’ kindness 
and the willing heartedness of the people the 


54 


baby organ was traded for a real cdmrcli organ; 
liOAv Allan liappened to bear of the great Semin- 
inary elinrrb in the city putting down new mat- 
ting and easily secured the gift of what Avas 
wortli haAdng of tlie old, and then hoAA^, the Sun- 
day before the church aa^s dedicated, he preached 
on, “xVnd so built aa c the wall for the people had 
a mind to Avork.” 

Tt AA'as not long after the Auctory oaw the pic- 
nic that x\llan began to feel that for some reason 
he had lost ground in the estimation of the Sem- 
inary faculty. Nothing AA as said and it is quite 
possible that he was mistaken, but he could not 
help feeling that for some reason he was regard- 
ed as a student of rather erratic tendencies, well 
meaning, doubtless, but none the less likely to do 
things that men of AA^ell balanced judgment were 
in no danger of doing. This both irritated and 
hurt him. He could think of nothing that he had 
done that could giA^e grounds for the charge un- 
less it Avas the fight against the Sunday picnic. 
But was that any reason for putting him under 
ban and labeling him as unsafe? Had he done 


55 


any more than any man in his position should 
have done? Surely the laws of both God and 
man were on his side. Doubtless he had not been 
as wise as many others would have been, but lie 
had simply tried to do his duty to the best of 
his ability and aceording to the promises he 
had made the Lord when he came to Chicago, 
to do his duty and take the consequences. And 
it seemed to him, too, that the Lord had honored 
his faith and obedience and given the victory. 
Did such principles and .practice put one under 
the ban? Then again, he would assure himself 
that it was all a figment of his imagaination and 
that the faculty thought no less of him than be- 
fore, for he was sttll a rather ^*poor student.” 
Watkins took pains to remind him occasiontlly, 
and the reminder helped him to brace up to his 
work better. 

Watkins, as an August senior, took pleasure 
in what he called ‘hnitting Allan’s wing feath- 
ers” and one method was to remind him of the 
Indian, who, when asked what he was doing for 
a living, replied that he was preaching. 


50 


^^How much salary do you get?” 

^^Ten dollars a year,” was the reply.” 

^^Ten dollars a ^^ear! Why, that is very poor 
pay.” 

yes,” said the Indian,” but it is a very 
poor ] breach.” Watkins declared that if Allan’s 
salary at Yellow Springs were any indication it 
must be a very poor j>reach. 

“My church seems to think it is good enough 
anyway,” replied Allan gruffly not relishing the 
joke but Watkins laughed all the more. Then 
came what Allan has always called the great 
affair at Petawan, but he was careful not to tell 
Watkins the details until sometime afterwards. 

It came about in this way. Allan felt that he 
had done all he could for the Yellow Springs 
church consistent with his studies, and probab- 
ly thinking, too, that he was now ready for a 
larger work, resigned and looked for new worlds 
to conquer. 

Petawan, seventy-five miles from the city, 
wished a supply, the superintendent said. Would 
Allan like to go there for a Sunday? Allan 


57 


would aud to his surprise, as well as that of 
^Vatkius, was asked to come again the next Sun- 
day and also to preach the annual sermon before 
the Petawan Bible Society. This society consisted 
of the three churches of Petawan and the an- 
nual meeting was a union meeting. The largest 
church in town would be packed to the doors. 
It was a great honor for a student to be asked to 
preach on such an occasion, Allan was sure, and 
told Watkins so, but Wat said it was simply the 
turn of their own church to furnish the preacher 
and Allan had been chosen because he happened 
to be available. This was the truth as Allan after- 
wards learned, but it only spurred him to great- 
er efforts. He would show Watkins and the peo- 
ple of Petawan what he could do when he really 
had time for preparation, and other things were 
favorable. 

Por the next two weeks he scarcely ate or slept 
without thinking about the great sermon he must 
prepare. He would take the Bible as his theme, 
and with a great theme, and an audience worthy 
of the theme, why should he not rise to the occas- 


58 


ion and demonstrate, once for all, that although 
lie Avas a poor student he Avas not at least a poor 
preacher. Watkins AA^arned him not to overdo in 
his preparations, but Allan could not belieA^e it 
possible to be too Avell prepared for so great an 
occasion. 

At last the great time Avas at hand. Allan took 
the train for Petavvan under a strain of anxious 
Avorry that an experienced man AV'Ould have 
knoAvn hoAV to avoid. Over and over he revieAved 
liis main poits, fearful lest he sliould forget some- 
thing, and kept his mind keyed uii to such high 
tension that it Avas little indeed he slept that 
night and less breakfast he ate the next morning. 
He Avas determined that nothing should interfere 
wifli the great sermon. 

At last tlie hour came, and the largest church 
of the town Avas tilled with people. The state 
agent of the Bible society had accepted an invi- 
tation and AA as sitting back of the juilpit, a kind- 
ly old man, prepared to appreciate every good 
thing that the preacher should say. The whole 
congregation Avas evidently expectant, and Allan 


59 

realized that now was liis time to^^strike twelve'" 
as Professor Friend would say. 

The pastors of the other churches were present, 
and took part in the opening exercises. Put why 
did thy persist in singing all the verses to the 
hymns; why did the choir sing such long an- 
thems ;and, above all, why did the P>ible Agent 
make such a long prayer? Would the agony of 
those anxious moments that seemed hours nevei' 
be over? 

At last! At last! The brother Avho presided 
announced that Brother Allan Fairly, a student 
of the (treat Western Theological Seminary, had 
kindly (‘onsented to preach the annual sermon, 
and the society would now have the pleasure of 
hearing him. 

How the next thirty minutes passed Allan 
(‘ould never tell with any degree of certainty. He 
had managed to announce his text with some 
strength of voice but thought his voice had never 
sounded so strangely before. Fie could not be- 
lieve for a while that it was really his own voice. 
His knees trembled so that he was certain every 


60 


one in the congregation must see them and know 
how badly frightened he was. Then, an old man 
on the front row of seats encouraged him with 
a fervent amen. He could see that those in the 
back part of the congregation had difficulty in 
hearing him, some craning their necks and some 
with one hand to the ear. So far things were not 
quite so bad as they might have been. His first 
point was evidently one of some interest, and 
the audience gave attention. 

But after that he was all at sea. What with the 
trembling of his knees, the choking sensation at 
his throat and the knowledge that his voice was 
not filling the church he was indeed in a bad way. 
But that was not {ill. His carefully prepared ser- 
mon had taken to itself wings and left his mind 
almost as completely blank as if he had never 
heard of the liible. The brother on the front seat 
was perservering and still endeavored to lift him 
over the hard places with an amen or two, not 
so fervent as the first, but it was all to no avail. 
Allan made heroic efforts to stop the trembling 
of his knees as well as his voice and to recall the 


61 


outline of his sermon but he only made a bad 
matter worse, closed after what seemed an al- 
most interminable time and sat down with a 
most humiliating sense of failure. He did not 
dare look the audience in the face as they sang 
the closing hymn. The sense of failure over- 
whelmed him. Yes, he had struck twelve certain- 
ly, twelve zeros, and big ones at that. 

After the benediction by the Bible Agent the 
amen brother of the front row came up, shook 
Allan’s hand and assured him : ^^Y'ou had a good 
text, brother, you had a good text.” Allan thank- 
ed him, and was glad in his heart that there was 
at least one grain of consolation. The congrega- 
tion hied out slowly, some with looks of disap- 
pointment, and others sympathetic but the most 
part seemed to feel rather imi>osed upon. He 
o^^erlumrd one woman say to another as they 
reached the door, ‘‘Talks like he had his mouth 
full of butter!” As he walked along the. street 
with his host and hostess, he felt that it was a 
case of “least said soonest mended^’ and was glad 
tlmt they seemed to agree with him. 


62 

As they were seated about the room Allan 
turned to Mr. and Mrs. Sine-lair and said: 

but wasn’t that a fizzle ! Such a fizzle ! And 
I meant to strike twelve. Yes, twelve zeros 

They comforted him as best they could, re- 
minding him that he was only a b^inner and 
would, doubtless, greatly improve with experi- 
ence. Allan asked when the next train would go 
to Chicago, and was told that there was one at 
two o’clock in the morning and another at nine 
thirty. He would take the two o’clock, he said, 
as he was anxious to get back to Chicago but 
still more anxious to get out of Petawan as soon 
as possible. 

One thing he could do at least, now that the 
great sermon had proved to be a great fizzle, and 
that was eat. He had eaten but little since he 
left Chicago and now he was hungry. He did 
ample justice to Mrs. Sinclair’s lunch, took tlie 
alarm clock so as to be certain to make the train 
and r(dired to his room. 

But again it was not to sleep. The night before 
he had slept little for worrying about the sermon 


63 


that he hoped would strike twelve, and now he 
could not sleep for thinking about how signally 
he had stiundv twelve. One thing was certain. 
He would never try again, ^d^ear Lord,” he said 
as he tossed on his bed, you’ll forgive this 
time, I’ll never try again.” 

It was not until a cu}) of coffee and a sand^ 
wich, at r>riar Hill Junction the next morning, 
revived his spirits that he began to pluck up new 
(‘Ourag(‘ and from there to the city reviewed care- 
fully the whole proceeding to see where he had 
made mistakes, and resolved that from that day 
he would never hear a public speaker without 
trying to learn something from him. It was only 
long afterwards, how^ever, that he was able to 
see that striking tw elve at Petawan had not been 
entirely in vain. 


CHAPTER FIVE 


Thirty Dollars 

The three years of life in the school of the 
])rophets came to an end. The commencement 
exercises were held, the diplomas, each tied with 
a blue ribbon, g:iven out, and Allan found himself 
ready for a pastorate, provided the pastorate 
(*ould be found. 

He had written to the superintendent of the 
great state of offering to take the need- 

iest field in the state. The superintendent seemed 
glad to hear from him, and gave him a letter of 
introduction to the supply committee at Buxter 
and Wolf Creek, which, he assured him, although 
not perhaps the neediest field in the state, was 
at least, one of the most difficult. 

Buxter was built on the sand, of the IMissawaki 
River valley, and there were times when it was 


65 


almost literally true that it was in the sand, 
es[>eeially during a dry time and a high wind. 

Although containing less than three hundred 
people, Buxter had two churches, a grammar 
scliool, three saloons, and a town hall built with 
license money. The saloons were flourishing. The 
churches were so puny that both united could 
not support a weekly prayer meeting, and it was 
a miracle when they united. 

Wolf Creek and Valley lay five miles to the 
north, across the sands, and contained some of 
the finest dairies, dairy farms, and cheese factor- 
ies in the state. The people of Wolf Creek were 
law abiding and intelligent, and it was no unus- 
ual thing to see the best books and magazines on 
their sitting room tables. In spite of this, and 
perhaps because of it, although Wolf Creek had 
held religious services for twenty years, in the 
neighborhood church, there was neither Sunday 
school nor church organization. The atmosphere 
of the Valley was apparently one of skepticism, 
while that of Buxter though less skeptical was 
openly immoral. 


66 


Mr. John Mott owned one of the largest dairy 
farms in the valley with one of the largest and 
choicest herds, and, although neither he nor his 
fannly ever had time to attend church, gave 
thirty dollars a year to support the preacher. Mr. 
Mott Indieved in preaching, always had lived in 
such a neighborhood in New York, where he had 
been born and raised, and would not live in a 
neighborhood where there was no church, but 
had no time to attend himself. He was considered 
one of the best business men of that section, and 
was rated by the commercial agencies at forty to 
ftfty thousand dollars. 

The church at Baxter and the community at 
Wolf Creek gave Allan a call, which he accepted 
on tlie spot, as all he had in the world was in his 
trunk, excepting a small box of books in Chicago. 

It was several weeks after settling down in 
Baxter that Allan met IMr. John Mott. Allan was 
much interested in him, he seemed a man of un- 
usual energy and intelligence; said frankly that 
he supposed they ought to get out to church 
more, but with so much on his hands did not have 


67 


time. He had come from a part of New York 
State where they called ministers Dominie, and 
Allan was rather amused to find himself called 
by the name. 

One night, several weeks after this interview, 
Allan went down to the station after the late 
train had gone west, to get some books wliich 
he was expecting by express. He found the agent’s 
room, in the center of the station, was filled with 
men, some middle aged, but the majority young 
men, with quite a number of boys. He had heard 
the shouting and laughing as he came near the 
door and upon entering, found that two drunken 
men were the center of attraction. One of these 
to Allan's great surprise proved to be Mr. Mott. 
The other was a stranger. Both had reached the 
silly, maudlin stage and were making fools of 
themselves to the great amusement of the crowd. 

The talk and laughter stopped as Allan inquir- 
ed if his package had come. Mr. Mott was stand- 
ing leaning against a table, his hat on one side 
of his head, the stub of a cigar in his mouth, and 
a drunken leer on his usually intelligent face. 


68 


“Why!’’ he exclaimed, “there’s the Domiuie! 
How do you do, Dominie? I am — mighty glad — 
to see you ; I want — to ask you — a question.” 

Mr. Mott’s words were by no means so straight 
and clear as the above would indicate, but the 
manner of a drunken man is too well known to 
need elaboration. 

“Why, Iiow do you do, Mr. Mott?” Allan re- 
plied, trying to make the best of an embarrassing 
situation. “How are you tonight?” 

“All right — Dominie! — I’m — fine as a fiddle.” 

2dr. ^lott left the support of the table, stagger- 
ed across the floor, laid his hand in a firm grasp 
upon Allan’s arm and pulled him into the center 
of the crowd, which came closer, greatly interest- 
ed and amused. 

But Allan saw nothing amusing in the situa- 
tion. There was no telling what a man in such 
a condition might say and do, and Allan did not 
relish the idea of being the butt of two drunken 
men and the crowd of loungers, to say nothing of 
the laughing stock of the community, when the 
word got round, as it certainly would. He wished 


69 


very much to get away as quickly and easily as 
possible. 

‘‘Now, Dominie,’’ continued Mr. Mott, stead- 
ying himself by holding onto Allan’s arm with 
both hands, “I believe — you’re — an honest man 
— and you — won't lie. I want you — to tell me — 
what you think of — a man — in my condition 

This was both nuts and raisins to the bystand- 
ers who showed their enjoyment of Allan’s em- 
bairassment by the guffaw so characteristic of 
such a crowd. 

Allan was frightened and at the same time 
worried. M'hat answer could he make to such a 
man? (Vrtainly it would never do to tell him 
just what he thought, and he was equally certain 
that he would not say Avhat he did not think, 
so the only thing which occurred to him was to 
temporize and, if possible, get Mr. Watt’s mind 
directed to something else. So he laughed as best 
he could, although he could see that it was rather 
a failure as a laugh, but, of course, there was no 
use in being any thing but good natured, and so, 
laughing, he tried gently to pull away saying: 


70 


you don’t care anything about what I 
think of you, Mr. Mott.’’ 

But Mr. Mott was not to be so easily put off. 
He tightened his hold upon the arm both to re- 
tain Allan and to steady himself. 

“N-no, no — Dominie — no dodgini I know — 
you’re — honest man — I want to know — what you 
think — of a man — in my condition!^’ The last 
words with a hiccough that set the crowd laugh- 
ing again. 

Allan felt that his case was indeed desperate. 
He looked around upon the crowd for one sym- 
athizer to whom he could appeal by word or look 
for help out of his embarrassment, but all were 
apparently too greatly amused to offer any as- 
sistance. He knew that Mr .Mott gave thirty doll- 
ars to his salary, even though neither he nor his 
family ever came to church. He came to a sud- 
den decision and, turning, laid his hand upon 
Mr .Mott's shoulder while the crowd stood al- 
most breathless waiting to hear his reply. 

^^Well, Mr .Mott,” he said controlling his voice 
as best he could,” if you really want to know 


71 


what I think of a man in your condition, I’ll tell 
you.” 

^‘That’s what — I want — Dominie — I believe — 
3^ou’re — an honest man !” 

^^Well, Mr .Mott,” Allan continued,” I think 
it's a great mistake, verj foolish indeed, for a 
man of your age and judgment to come down to 
town here and get into such a condition. Just 
think of the example you set before these men 
and boys. And that is'nt all ! Think of the ex- 
ample you set before 3"our own boys, fine boys I 
am told they are, will soon be young men. Would 
you like your boys to follow 3^our example? And 
that isn’t all, Mr. Mott, think of the effect upon 
your own soul. If you keep this up you’ll be in 
the gutter some day, or perhaps fill a drunkard’s 
grave?” 

Allan had said more than he had intended and 
more, he felt, than was wise. He expected that 
the drunken man would get angrv and abuse him, 
but Mr .Mott simply released his hold, caught the 
nearest arm for support, and replied good nat- 
uredly. 


72 


^^Well Dominie — I thank you — I believe you’re 
an honest man.’^ 

Not a word further was said as Allan secured 
his package of books, bade everyone good night, 
and left the room. The crowd had evidently 
been almost staggered by the surprise of such 
plain speaking. 

Allan congratulated himself, as he returned to 
his room, upon having gotten out of the matter 
so easily. ‘‘It was pretty close to, ‘Good bye, 
thirty dollars!’’ he said. 

For several days the village of Baxter was 
agog with various accounts of Allan’s conversa- 
tion with Mott. The consensus of opinion was 
that he had made a mistake, gone entirely too 
far, and, although Mott had not apparently tak- 
en offense, there were not lacking those who were 
ready to do so for him. Perhaps they recognized 
that there were dangerous possibilities in having 
so plain spoken a man for the preacher of one 
of the villaire churches. There was no telling what 
he might do or say, and there were certain things 
in the lives of some of the leading citizens of 


73 


which the less said the better, certainly in a pub- 
lic way. 

.I>ut this gossip was not all. A few days later, 
Allan met the treasurer of Wolf Creek, Mr. 
White, who, Allan was certain, was one of his 
staunchest friends. Mr. White evidently thad 
something on his mind. 

‘^h]lder,’- he said, after a few moments con- 
versation, ^Svhat did you do to offend John Mott, 
down in Buxter that night?’’ 

^Why, is he offended?” Allan exclaimed. “He 
didn't seem to be that night! What does he say?” 

“He swears he’ll never give another dollar to 
your salary, says you insulted him; said he’d 
land in a drunkard’s grave if he didn’t lookout, 
and all that kind of thing.” 

This was indeed an unexpected turn of affairs. 
Alian had congratulated himself upon getting 
out of the matter so easily. Thirty dollars meant 
a great deal to him, he really could not afford to 
lose it, and yet, he had simply tried to do his 
duty. He told Mr. White the straight of the mat- 
ter, explained Mr. Mott’s condition and how he 


74 


had insisted upon knowing Allan’s opinion, as 
an honest man, of a man in his condition. He had 
tried to get away, but the drunken man had held 
onto him, refusing to take no for an answer. No 
doubt Aviser men could haA^e gotten off without 
giA ing offense, but he had done his best. So Avith 
a sigh he told Mr. White to take the money out 
of his salary; he AA^ould lose it. 

Mr .White AA^as truly sorry, but the communi- 
ty had done their best for Allan and he did not 
think it possible to make good the money lost by 
Mott's defection. Allan said to himself as 
he Avalked away, and rather sadly, ^Ht was good 
bye, after all !” 

His first feeling Avas regret that he had spoken 
so x)lainly. Would it not liaA^e been AA iser to have 
put Mott off with something like, I think you 
are not quite yourself tonight. I’ll talk Avith you 
some time again.” Then, perhaps, he could have 
told a story, and under cover of the laugh, for 
the croAvd Avas equally ready to laugh Avith him 
as to laugh at him, he could have made his es- 
cape. By the time Mott had become sober he 


75 


would have been ashamed of his question, and 
the thirty dollars would have been in no danger. 
But how about his reputation as an honest man, 
one who told the truth regardless of consequenc- 
es? Could he safely have declined to accept such 
a challenge with its consequences without losing 
ground in his own self respect as well as that of 
the community? The problem was rather puzzl- 
ing. His only consolation was that he had stood 
true to the best he knew. Other men wofuld prob- 
ably have been wiser, but he had done his best. 

Several months passed, during which Allan 
saw nothing of Mr. Mott and heard nothing of 
any more sprees. He had learned that Mr. Mott 
had been in tlie habit, for years, of taking a 
spree every two or three months, but for some 
reason the last had frightened him for a while 
at least. Then came, one day, Mr. White with a 
surprise : 

‘^Well, Elder, what do you think happened 
yesterday?” 

can not imagine. Brother White, what was 

it?” 


76 


John Mott came around and paid his 
thirty dollars. He spoke kindly of you, too.” 

‘^Did he mention the conversation at the sta- 
tion?” asked Allan when he had recovered from 
his surprise. 

^^Not a word! Simply paid his money like he 
always did.” 

This truly was an unexpected turn of the 
wheel and Allan was glad that he had stood his 
ground. It pays, after all, he thought, to stand 
four square to the facts. 

But there was still another surprise in store. 
One day several weeks after Mr .White’s inform- 
ation, Allan took the train for the county seat 
and who should come and sit down by him but 
Mr. Mott, and he was his shrewd sober self. They 
talked of various things until Mr. Mott spoke, 
incidentally, of the Buxter saloons and the sa- 
loon keepers. Allan turned to his companion 
with the question : 

‘AVhy is it, Mr. Mott, that the saloon keepers 
hate a man of my profession so? I am against 
their business; I am compelled to be ,but if they 


77 


were in any trouble, there isn’t a man in the 
country would do more for them than I would.’’ 

^‘Oh, I’ll tell you, Dominie,” Mr. Mott replied 
after a moment’s hesitation, ^‘They talk that way, 
but they know 3^ou’re right, and they respect 
you for it.” 

All that Allan could say was that he was glad 
to know it, and the conversation changed. Did 
Mr. Mott intend Allan to infer that he knew 
Allan had told the truth in the station, that 
night, and, at heart, he respected him for it? 

It would be pleasant indeed to be able to say 
that through Allan’s influence Mr. Mott became 
a regular attendant at church, and in time a 
sober if not a Christian man, but the facts are 
sadly different. 

Veai'S afterwards, Allan received a letter 
from his friend, Mr. White, in which was the 
following paragraph : 

‘Won remember John Mott, don’t you. Elder? 
Well, for the last two or three years he has been 
getting worse and worse; would go on a spree 
every month and sometimes every week. His wife 


78 


died, you remember, about three years ago. J^lie 
had a big influence over him, invalid though she 
was for years, and when she died he just seemed 
to let go. Then his business got all tangled up, 
as was to be expected with a man sober one day 
and drunk the next. To make matters still worse, 
he got to speculating and lost heavily ; mortgaged 
his farm they say. Then as if that wasn^t enough 
his eldest boy Avent on a spree, and under such 
a complication of troubles John gave up the flght. 
They missed him soon after dark, last night, and 
after a while found him leaning over the side of 
the Avater tank by the Avindmill Avhere they Avater 
the herd. He had been dead for some time, ap- 
parently. His head Avas under the Av^ater in the 
tank. It is the most terrible shock that the Valley 
has had for years. He Av^as a good business man, 
generous hearted almost to a fault, but he could 
not, or Avould not, let drink alone.’’ 


CHAPTER SIX 


The Most Unpopular Ma7i In Town 

This was the position in which Allan found 
himself for several weeks in the spring following 
his first winter at Baxter and Wolf Creek. As 
the time for the spring elections apjjroached, 
there was talk of licensing a fourth saloon in the 
village. The three saloons had flourished during 
the past year, so much so that a fourth man 
wanted a share of the business, it was said, and 
would ai)ply to the new village officials for a 
license. 

And so the Sabbath evening a week before the 
election, Allan preached on the license question. 
It was then that the dangerous possibilities of 
having so rec.kless and plain spoken a preacher 
become realties, as some had forseen they would. 
He was not content to preach against the license 


80 


system, as a system, but went so far as to point 
out some of the practical results of })ermitting a 
village to be run in the interests of tlie saloon 
business even though the license money did build 
the town hall and put clay on the sand of the 
main street. The saloons, he said, were persistent 
and defiant law breakers. They made no pretense 
of keeping the law, unless it was to their interest 
to do so. They sold to drunkards in defiance of 
law, to minors, in defiance of law, kept open af- 
ter the lawful hours, for closing; i^ermitted 
gambling of all kinds and made no ])retense of 
closing on Sundays. In fact, Sunday was the day 
in which they did their best business. He spoke of 
having seen two boys staggering from one of the 
saloons, just the day before, boys certainly under 
fifteen years of age. He spoke of the school girls, 
still in short dresses, who were seen on the 
streets until late hours almost every night. Was 
it any wonder that three young women had been 
ruined within the last year. He spoke of the rep- 
utation of the village all through that ]>art of the 
state, ‘^As tough as Buxter,” was a common say- 


81 


iug. Would they add to these calamitous results 
by still another saloon? 

When Allan walked to the postoffice for his 
mail the next morning, he found himself the most 
unf)opular man in town. Some who were always 
friendly made no reply to his greeting or spoke 
in the surliest tones. Several looked as if they 
would like to lay violent hands upon him. He 
overheard one man remark to another, as he 
passed, ^^Ripped the town up the back last night, 
— himr 

Brother Smith, the superintendent of the Sun- 
day School, and Allan’s most loyal friend in 
Baxter, had been much grieved by the sermon. 

^H’m afraid that your goose is cooked here. 
Brother Fairly,” he said. ^^The whole town is 
mad, excepting a few of us, and they say they’ll 
never pay another dollar to your salary.” 

^^All right. Brother Smith,” Allan replied, 
am ready to go any time the people wish. But 
what are they angry about?” 

^^Why, the things you said last night.” 

^Hsn’t it true,” replied Allan, ^^that the saloons 


82 


are openly defiant of law?’’ 

yes, everybody knows that !” 

Isn’t it true that they sell to drunkards, to 
minors, keep open after lawful hours and all day, 
Sundaj^s, and permit all kinds of gambling in de- 
fiance of law?” 

‘‘Yes, that’s true, but — ” 

“Isn’t it true that boys as young as ten years 
gpt beastly drunk in the saloons?” 

“Yes, I’m afraid it is!” 

“Is’nt it true that mere chits of girls still in 
short dresses, are on the streets till late at night? 
Isn't it true that three young women have been 
ruined here within the last year?” 

“O 3"es, its true, but, of course — ” 

“Did I say anything. Brother Smith, that 
every man and woman here doesn’t know to be 
true? Isn't it a common saying in the neighbor- 
ing towns, “As tough as Buxter?” 

“Yes, yes, it's all true enough and yet — ” 

“And yet what. Brother Smith?” 

“I’m sorry you preached that sermon. It’s all 
true, but that wasn’t the reason why the peo])le 


83 


aro mad. It was not only what you said, but the 
V. ay you said it.” 

^^How did I say it, Brother Smith?” 

‘^You said it just as if you was mad because 
there was talk of licensing another saloon and 
was bound to make us all smart for it.” 

^^Well, Brother Smith,” Allan renlied, ^df that 
is the impression I gave I made a mistake, if 1 
didn’t sin. I have no right to get out of paitience 
witli people so long as the Lord doesn’t get out 
of patience with me. I’ll tliink it over.” 

Allan kept liis i)romise, and not only thought 
over tlie matter, but made it a subject of earnest 
prayer. The result of both tliought and prayer 
was tlie conclusion that he had not taken the 
wisest way in the matter, even though he had 
s})oken nothing but the truth. Though speaking 
the timth he had not, apparently, spoken in love, 
but more in exasperation. That certainly, was, not 
the spirit of his Master, and the more he thought 
and prayed over it, the more he resolved that if 
the opportunity came he would show Buxter and 
community that he would not only talk against 


84 


the saloons, but he would do what he could to 
help and save its victims. 

After the first few days the saloon men de- 
cided that they would make Allan ridiculous by 
pretending to nominate him for village marshal 
at the coming caucus of the Citizen’s Party. The 
nominees of this party were always the hench- 
men of the saloons, who took special pains to see 
that the village marshal was a man from whom 
they could fear nothing by way of impertinent 
inforcement of obnoxious laws. Jim Boyd, whose 
saloon was nearest to the station, and had the 
largest patronage, suggested that it would be a 
good joke on Fairly and make the community 
laugh at him, to pretend or perhaps actually to 
nominate him, for the office of marshal. They 
knew, of course, that he would refuse to accept. 

It was the afternoon before the caucus that 
Brother Smith told Allan of the plan of Jim 
Boyd and others to turn the laugh on him. At 
first, Allan was quite disconcerted, and then, 
another thought came and he said: 

^A"ou tell Jim Boyd and his crowd that if 


85 


they would like to nominate me for marshal, to 
go ahead. I’ll Jiccept the nomination and also the 
office, if I am elected. I’d like to be marshal of 
this town for about six months. I’ll warrant that 
things will be different from what thev have been 
in the last six months. I’ll see that law means 
something more than a mere printed page.’’ 

Brother Smith saw the humor in the situa- 
tion and gave Allan’s message. The plan was 
abandoned, even more quickly than it had been 
instituted. Allan laughed in his sleeve when he 
met Boyd on the street, and said to himself, 
‘^Check ! It’s your next move, Mr .Boyd.” The 
new marshal was a man whose ideas of law 
enforcement were not of so radical a character, 
and the fourth license was not granted. 

And still the opportunity to demonstrate that 
he would do some thing more than talk against 
the saloons had not come, and Allan could feel 
that the village had not forgiven him. Then, 
one morning as he went for his mail, a most un- 
expected opportunity came and he did not hesi- 
tate. 


86 


Mr. Mott was not the only one of the dairymen 
of Wolf Creek Valley, who was in the habit of 
fisking his regular sprees. Mr. Baxter had a tine 
daily farm and a large herd, not so large as 
Mott's, but still larger than most his neighbors. 
Ho. too, was a good farmer and business man. 
Cor weeks he lead as sober and industrious a life 
as any one could ask. This would sometimes last 
for six months at a time and then, all restraint 
was useless. The first intimation his wife would 
haAe would be that he had not returned from 
.town at his usual time and often would not re- 
turn for days, at times, staying in Buxter, or 
tho county seat ,for a week or more, indulging in 
a complete debauch. 

'I'he first thing to catch Allan's eye as he came 
out of the postoflice was ^Ir .Baxter sitting, 
\(*iy unsteadily indeed, upon the S])ring seat of 
liis wagon box with top boards and extra side 
boards. This gave him quite an elevated position, 
all the more dangerous to a man in his condition. 
Another man who was much older, but in an 
aimr^st equal stage of intoxi(‘ation. stood by the 


87 


wlieel aud expostulated with ilaxter who was de- 
termined to cdimb down aud continue his spiee. 
'A'hich liad already lasted three days. 

Allan noticed that the horses were young and 
spirited and were held by one of the crowd. The 
man by the wheel was Crimniins who had lK‘<^n 
Baxt€U‘'s companion on his spree. Crimmins was 
urging Baxter to go home, and Baxter was de- 
termined not to do so until he had had at least 
another drink, and kept trying to climb down. 

Allan had heard of the many narrow escapes 
Baxter had had on his way home from his si)rees, 
and the idea came to him that he would take 
him home, and see that he arrived safely that 
once at least. 

“Keep him a minute or so, Mr .Crimmins/* 
said Allan, “while I go after my coat. I’ll take 
him home.” 

Crimmins promised and was as good as his 
word. Allan climbed up to the high seat, after he 
had secured his overcoat, and took his seat by 
Baxter, who lurched against him as he turned in 
an effort to sit up straight. 


88 


this — the elder?’’ he stammered as well as 
Ills swollen tongue would permit. 

Allan smiled at the ludicrous situation and 
replied : 

^^You know me, don’t you, Mr. Baxter? I’m 
going to take you home.’' 

^^Well — it’s all right — Elder,” replied Baxter 
with another lurch,” it’s all right — just so as 
you know wheri^ — you're goin?” 

The crowd laughed at this and Allan could 
not lielp joining them. He believed that he knew 
where he was going full as well as his companion, 
he at least could sit up without falling off the 
wagon. Fie caught Baxter by the coat collar just 
back of the neck, with his left hand, gathered up 
the “lines” with his right, it was not in vain 
that he had learned to drive on the farm, told 
the man at the horses’ heads to let go, and was 
soon on his way up the street, smiling to himself 
at the figure he cut holding onto Mr. Baxter’s col- 
lar to keep him from falling off, as the wagon 
swayed. People lined the sidewalks and looked 
out of the windows and laughed at the unusual 


89 


sight, although a few saw more pathos than 
humor in the situation. 

The drunken man was in no condition to re- 
alize the humor of the situation; did not seem 
to he aAvare of the hand upon his collar but was 
greatly troubled for fear Allan did not know 
where he was going. 

Once out of the village, and on the sand road 
the horses were quite willing to moderate their 
pace, and gave no trouble all the way home. It 
was slow, weary going, however, and Allan’s arm 
ached before they reached the mouth of the 
Wolf Creek Valley. Baxter talked every moment. 
Mostly the silliest of nonsense, with occasional 
maudlin sentiment, but lit up here and there 
with flashes of wit that made Allan laugh more 
than once. Baxter’s characterization of the men 
they met on the road, or whose homes they pass- 
ed, was often so shrewd and so accurate, that 
Allan has often wished he could have preserved 
them for future amusement. 

When they came to the mouth of the valley, 
where the road turned north, Baxter grabbed at 


90 


the lines in an effort to get them out of Allan's 
hands and shouted, 'AYhoa !” The well trained 
horses stopped. 

'AVhafs the matter, Mr. Baxter?" said Allan. 

‘AVhv you’re — on the wrong road — Elder, — 
you want — to go — that way!” pointing to the 
west. 

‘T) no, Mr. Baxter,” Allan replied. ^We’re on 
the right road, I’m sure. I travel it everv Sunday, 
you knoAV.” 

“Well — it’s all right. Elder, — just so — as you 
know — where you’re goin!” 

Allan laughed, assured him that he knew and 
droA e on. The journey up the valley was without 
incident excepting that one of the sacks of 
ground feed rolled off as they drove over a rough 
place. Allan dare not stop to get it and so drove 
on. 

At last, long after dinner hour, they drove 
into Mr. Baxter’s yard greatly to the surprise, 
not to speak of other feelings, of Mrs. Baxter. 
Allan climbed doAvn as quickly as possible to 
save ^Tr. Baxter a fall, but that gentleman, re- 


91 


seiitiug such anxiety on his part, half climbed 
and half fell off in imminent danger, as Allan 
thought, of breaking his neck .Mrs. Baxter reach- 
ed lier husband’s side as soon as Allan and be- 
tween them Baxter was heljied to liis feet and 
into the liouse where he was given several cups of 
strong coffee and put to bed to sleep off the 
effects of his spree. 

Mrs. Baxter was thankful for what Allan had 
done, but lie could not escape the suspicion that 
site would have been just as thankful if he had 
not done it. Few words were said as he ate a 
lunch, and then the hired man took him the 
greater part of the way to Buxter. 

Mr. Baxter never referred to the matter in 
talks he had with Allan afterwards, but the 
reader will be glad to know that he reformed, 
and, the last Allan heard from him, he was a 
sober man. 

What did Buxter say? Very little, indeed, that 
reached Allan’s ears, but in some wa^^ he knew 
that he had been forgiven; the subscription list, 
that year, was larger than the " Tv^fore, and he 
was no longei' the most unpo])ular man in town. 


CHAPTER SEVEN 


Did God Hear? 

Time and again, as Allan drove up and down 
Wolf Creek Valley, the question arose in his 
mind as to whether he was doing any real good 
or not. The people were kindness itself, and, 
while there was doubtless more than one cause 
for criticism of his sermons, and the attendance 
was not all tliat he could have hoped, it was still, 
probably, all that could reasonably be expected, 
and he was surprised more than once that as 
many people came as did. Not that he had any 
false modesty, but, trying honestly to face tlie 
racts and remembering Wat’s stor^^ of the India. 
Allan was forced to admit that it was rather a 
l)oor preach. 

He couid not resist the imjjression that the 
time Avas near when he must see a more definite 


93 


advance than he had yet seen. Would it not be 
possible to have more social life in the Valley? 
He felt that it would do the people good, the 
young people, certainly, and the adults, possibly, 
to get together once a month or so especially dur- 
ing the winter evenings and “have a good social 
time.’’ With some misgivings, the attempt was 
made by holding a “Mummy Social’^ at the home 
of Mr, White, which function was so pronounced 
a success that similar events became a matter of 
course. 

I>ut this, Allan felt, although a step in the 
right direction, was still not all that could be 
desired. The services in the Valley were held on 
Sabbath afternoon, so that each Sabbath evening 
there was time for a religious gathering of some 
kind, providing that the people could be gotten 
together. Would it not be possible to organize a 
young people’s society, a Christian Endeavor, 
that could hold a prayer meeting at least every 
other Sunday evening. 

He broached the subject to some of the young 
people, and they assured him that it would be an 


94 


i»ii|K>s8ibiri(y to liold a prayer meeting. Why, 
they declared, there had not been a prayer meet- 
ing in the valley for t^^'enty year.s. The people 
1^1 mph" would not attend. The older ones had 
long since gotten out of the habit of attending, 
even of the few who had once been in the habit. 
The young people had not learned and had no 
desire to do so. And then, it was urged, even 
though these difficulties were overcome, there 
was the question of the dark nights. They were 
not so fond of driving in the dark and caring 
for a team, to be willing to attend a prayer meet- 
ing. 

Allan replied that they were willing to come, 
even on dark nights, to the socials. That, how- 
ever, they replied was a different ijroposition en- 
tirely. And, of course, it was as Allan had to 
admit. 

So he made the question a matter of prayer, 
and often as he prayed there came to his mind 
the various objections and difficulties which so 
often arose. Could it be true that prayer, real 
prayer, availed? He looked up beyond the great 


95 


bluffs on either side of the valley, as he drove 
along the road, to the bine sky, and wondered 
an<l hoped and doubted and at times believed. He 
looked n]> at night at the great dome of heaven, 
spangled with stars, recalled as best he could all 
he had learned about them and tried to conceive 
of the Being, great enough to make the universe 
and the fly. Did God hear? And if he did 
could he or would he answer? And if so, 
under Avhat conditions? These were questions 
that more and more demanded answer as Allan 
tliought on the subject of prayer, until he felt 
himself worried and almost irritated by their 
niagnitude and insistence. 

One thing, at least, he could do. He could 
make an attem]>t to organize a prayer meeting 
and, even though it failed, there would be no 
liarm done tliat he could see, and there was at 
least a possibility of good. 

Every other Sunday evening he was at liberty 
as the churches in Iluxter alternated in the Sun- 
day evening services. Allan waited until the time 
of the new moon was near, and announced that. 


96 


on the next Sunday evening there would be an ex- 
hibition of stereopticon pictures of the Holy 
Land, at the home of Mr .and Mrs. Wilson, after 
which an attempt would be made to organize a 
society of Christian Endeavor. The pictures were 
not a brilliant success, partly because of the poor 
light and partly because of Allan’s lack of skill 
in handling the lantern, but the organization of 
the society was effected without difficulty. 

Two weeks from that night, it was agreed, they 
would hold their first prayer meeting at the home 
of the post mistress. 

Those two weeks were full of anxiety for Allan. 
Few conscious moments passed that he was not 
thinking about, or praying for, the Wolf Creek 
prayer meeting. And, mixed with these moments 
of faith, were moments of doubt, that quite 
frightened him. At times, prayer seemed a glor- 
ious fact and, again, the silliest farce. What a 
privilege to be able to invoke the aid of the In- 
finite! What a farce to forget that every thing 
must be under the dominion of law! Someone 
had said, ‘^Given the universe to find God.” A 


07 


very great problem, indeed, but could it possibiy, 
be any greater than the other problem, ^^Given 
the universe without God?’’ 

Alternating thus between hope and fear, faith 
and doubt, Allan drove up the valley, that Sab- 
bath evening, in a state of mind that Avas a mys- 
tery to himself. He wondered whether there 
would be any one present. It was a perfect moon- 
light night and there was no excuse on that ac- 
count, but peoi>le never lack for excuses, he 
thought, when they wish to find them. 

His heart sank as he droA-e into the barn yard. 
Mr. White’s team Avas the only one he could see. 
Of course, he had expected him and his family, 
but Avere there any others. He looked carefully 
at the hat rack in the hall way as he entered 
the house, and saAV that there Avere evidntly more 
people present than the White family, but his 
surprise came when he looked around the large 
rooms to find that they were lined Avith people, 
men, Avomen, and children. There was that much 
encouragement, at least, but Avould any one pray? 

They sang several familiar hymns, a lesson 


98 


from scripture was read, Allan lead in prayer, 
they sang several more hymns, Allan explained 
the lesson, then led in prayer again, all the while 
fearful to put the matter to the supreme test and 
learn whether God had heard and answered his 
prayer or not. They sang several more hymns, 
and then, ashamed of his vacillation, he proposed 
that all kneel and unite in what the Endeavorers 
call a chain of prayer, the nature of which he 
explained. 

Every one kneeled and, again, Allan led, re- 
questing others to follow. Mr. White was next to 
him and followed with a short prayer. Then, to 
Allan’s delight, the spirit of prayer as he said, 
afterward, went round the room like the fire 
of (tod. Old and young, middle aged and chil- 
dren, excepting the very smallest, offered their 
petitions, and the first prayer meeting in twenty 
years in Wolf Creek Valley, came to a triumph- 
ant close. 

As Allan drove south toward Buxter, he look- 
ed up, beyond he light clouds floating over the 
valley, to the heavens above, and, as the tears 


99 


rolled down his cheeks, whispered, ^^Forgive me!’^ 
And God heard. 

LOf C, 


CHAPTER EIGHT 


The Fugitive 

‘‘Here’s a letter for you, Elder,” said the post- 
mistress one morning in the late fall. 

The letter was addressed, “To the Pastor of 

Any Church, Buxter, ” The imstmark was of 

a town in Nebraska. In the lower left hand 
corner was the word, “Important!” heavily un- 
derscored. The letter read as follows : 

“Dear Brother: Whoever you are, into whose 
liands this comes, let me entreat you, in the 
name of our common Master, to give it immediate 
attention. 

“Mrs. Mary Tentor, a member of my church, 
who lias heretofore borne a spotless reputation, 
a week ago today suddenly left her husband and 
two little children. Her husband, who is a locomo- 
tive fireman, was away on his run. She left a 


101 


note saying that she was never coming back, 
would secure a divorce, and marry the man she 
loves and who loves her and Avho will be glad to 
see that she has all that she needs of the neces- 
saries of life. 

^^It now transpires, so her aunt, who is caring 
for the children ,tells me, that the poor foolish 
woman planned to meet her lover either in 
Omaha or some place farther east, but, in some 
way, their plans miscarried and she has gone to 
visit her sister, a Mrs. Len Sinclair, who lives 
in your town. 

‘‘This Mrs. Sinclair is said to be a much married 
woman, but you probably know more about her 
than I do. She and her daughter, who claims to 
be a widow^, visited here several weeks, last sum- 
mer and it was then, the aunt thinks, that they 
persuaded Mary to leave her two babies and se- 
cure a divorce. 

“I wish you could see the children. Two sweeter 
little tots, a girl two, and a boy four, one seldom 
sees. The little boy has dark hair like the mother, 
and the baby is fair like the father. The mother 


102 


always seemed to love her children very dearly, 
and every one is astonished that she could poss- 
ibly leave them. 

‘‘Scott Henson, the alle.£»'ed lover, is a passenger 
brakeinan, rather a dashing fellow and a great 
favorite with a certain class of girls along the 
line. of his run. Some say that he has a girl in 
every town, but, at any rate, his reputation is far 
from the best. The aunt tells me that he was an 
admirer of IMary’s before she married Tentor, and 
would have married her, but for her aunt’s in- 
fluence. 

“Tentor is a steady going, reliable fellow, not so 
much of a lady’s man as Henson, but really 
worth a dozen of him. I judge that he has not 
been able, or perhaps willing, to dress Mary and 
the children as she wished. 

“Now, my brother, will you not find this mis- 
guided woman, and do what you can to infiuence 
her to return to her husband and children? 

“We know that she and Henson have not met, 
as yet, but there is no telling how soon they may, 
so kindly give the matter prompt attention.” 


103 


Allan knew of Mrs. Sinclair, and knew that 
her reputation was bad and her daughter’s still 
worse. For a good woman to be in such a home 
was dangerous indeed. 

The postmaster read the letter and remember- 
ed seeing quite a pretty little black haired wom- 
an in company with Mrs. Sinclair, or her daugh- 
ter, Mollie. They had inquired for letters address- 
ed to Mrs. Theresa Brown. 

What was to be done? Allan hesitated as to 
what was the proper course to pursue. He knew 
where Mrs. "Sinclair lived. Would it be wise for 
him to call, inquire for Mrs. Tentor, and, if poss- 
ible, persuade her to return to her home? But, 
would not the gossips talk about him, a young 
man, attempting a task which properly belonged 
to some older man? And yet, there was no older 
man to do it. He decided that it was another case 
of do his duty and take the consequences, and 
so, with the letter as explanation and authority, 
he soon stood before the plain brown house which 
Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair called home. 

The shades were drawn clear down, and no 


104 


one responded to his knock. Could they have 
gotten warning in some way, and shut themselves 
in? He hurried to the station near by and was 
informed by the agent that Sinclair and his wife 
and two other women, whom he did not notice 
particularly, had taken the train, the afternoon 
before, for Tilson Junction, twenty miles to the 
north and west. The agent could tell nothing of 
where they had gone from the Junction, but sug- 
gested that as Mollie Sinclair had a lover, a 
brakeman in the yards, at the Junction, some 
trace might be found of them. 

There was a train for the Junction within ten 
minutes, and Allan had barely time to write a 
note to his land lady, saying that he would be 
away for perhaps a day or so, and find a boy to 
carry it, when the train came. 

At first, no one at the Junction recalled having 
seen the party of three women and a man the 
day before, there were so many people comiiig and 
going, until Allan mentioned the name of Mollie 
Sinclair. Everybody knew her, but, whether 
she had gone further west, or whether she had 


105 


stopped at the Junction, no one could recall, 
till one man remembered having seen her on 
the street that morning. 

Didn't Miss Sinclair have a lover working in 
the yards there? Allan asked. Yes, Tim Daly, but 
he had taken a regular run just a few days before 
and was a hundred miles away. Further search 
seemed hopeless when some one else remembered 
that, not long before, the Sinclair girl had work- 
ed in the place called The Home Hotel. Perhaps 
she had gone there, or perhaps they could tell 
where to find her. 

The outside of the Home Hotel was not im- 
pressive, and the inside even less so. A large, 
coarse faced, deep voiced woman answered All- 
an's knock on the inner office door and asked to 
know his business. He extended his card and 
explained that he wished to see Miss Sinclair on 
very important business, and would be grateful 
indeed for information as to where she could be 
seen. 

The woman hesitated, looked over the card in 
her hand and then the young man before her, and 


106 


replied gruflfly that the girl was in the house. She 
would tell her. Would the gentleman take a seat 
in the parlor? 

Allan accepted the invitation and, while wait- 
ing, stared at the wreath of wax flowers under 
a glass, and tried to imagine how any one could 
see any beauty in them. Perhaps they were an 
heirloom, and perhaps, — but then Miss Sinclair 
entered the room having taken time to change 
her gown. 

There is no need to enter into a detailed ac- 
count of the conversation. Miss Sinclair vowed 
that she did not know where her aunt Mary had 
gone. She knew she had made up her mind never 
to return to such a stingy man as John Tentor. 
Mr. Henson was a perfectly lovely man. Aunt 
Mary was clean daft about him, and would marry 
him, just as soon as she could secure a divorce. 

A half hour passed in futile questionings and 
evasive answers. Miss Sinclair was determined 
to tell nothing. 

Allan saw that he was taking the wrong course 
and appealed to the girTs nobler nature. And 


107 


then, after another half hour of pleading, she 
said that Mr. Sinclair’s parents lived at Chester, 
thirty miles away, and, perhaps, aunt Mary had 
gone there. 

\\ ilh this clue, Allan was compelled to be sat- 
isfied and assure the girl that she had made no 
mistake for she knew well that her aunt was .in 
great danger. 

The first inquiry at Chester was made at the 
drug store nearest the station. The druggist knew 
the Sinclairs well, the old man lived on a farm 
north of town, and several of the boys were mar- 
ried and had homes of their own near by. ‘AAhy 
there goes Tom Sinclair now,’’ he said, “I’ll call 
him in, and he can probabaly tell you, in a min- 
ute, just what you want to know.” 

Tom soon proved that the druggist was right. 

Allan explained his errand in Chester. Did Mr. 

Sinclair know whether his brother, William, 

liis wife and another woman were at his father’s 

on the farm? He did and soon gave his opinion 

of Bill for having anything to do with such a 

% 

woman. Yes, it was a little black eyed woman, 


108 


Killy’s wife’s sister, who came along, but of 
course, nobody knew that she had left her hus- 
band and children. 

It was between three and four o’clock in the 
afternoon before Allan could secure a livery 
team, and start for the farm, seven miles north. 
A storm of rain blew into their faces and soon 
chilled through the light overcoat which Allan 
wore. The rain changed to snow, and the temper- 
ature fell still more. The driver missed the road 
and wanted to turn back, but Allan felt that he 
had not come that far to turn back at the last 
moment. 

Inquiries at various farm houses soon put 
them on the right road again, and, finally, they 
drove up to the little farm house. Allan could 
see that there was evidently a commotion going 
on at the sight of the buggy, but did not under- 
stand its full significance. 

Old Mr. Sinclair answered Allan’s knock and 
was anything but cordial in his greeting. After 
some difficulty, he admitted that Mrs. Tentor 
was there. He would show her the (*ard, j)erhaps 


109 


islie would see him. Would he have a seat? 

During the hours when he had waited for the 
trains, or was in them, Allan had given mucdi 
thought as to how he should broach the subject 
to Mrs. Ten tor, and what arguments he should 
use in case he found her. He was not left waiting 
long. Mrs. Ten tor entered the room with a set 
of lip and poise of head that showed plainly how 
glad she was to see this stranger who presumed 
to interfere in her family affairs. Allan saw at 
once that here was a little woman with a will 
of her own, and a courage to exercise it. 

^Hs this Mrs. Tentor?” Allan asked as he held 
out his hand. 

^‘Yes, sir!” 

am sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Tentor. My 

name is Fairly, I am pastor of the church 

at Buxter, perhaps you have seen or heard of 
me.” 

^H’ve seen you on the street there,” replied Mrs. 
Tentor sitting very straight in her chair, her 
pretty lips drawn to a line. 

^^Then you will understand, when I tell you 


110 


that 1 received a letter from your pastor, this 
morning, in which he requests me to have a talk 
with you. Here is the letter. Do you wish to see 
it?'^ 

“It won't do any good for you to talk with 
me, or for Mr. Smith to write to me, I’m never 
going back to live with John Tentor. I’ll starve 
to death first.” 

“Was ,your husband cruel to you, Mrs. Tentor?” 

“Druel ! I should say he was !” 

“Did he ever strike you? Some men do strike 
their wives. Did your husband ever strike you?” 

“No, he never laid a hand on me, he didn’t 
dare, but he was cruel just the same. He wouldn’t 
give me a dollar to spend if he could help it, he 
was so stingy and mean that, if I hadn’t been 
a dressmaker and knew how to make my own 
clothes, I wouldn’t have had a new dress from 
one year’s end to another. He made good wages, 
too, but he was stingy, he wanted to put it in the 
bank. A girl wants something new and pretty 
once in a while. I didn’t marry him to slave and 
work, and dress like a dowdy. Why, I had 


Ill 


to take in sewing to get the clothes needed for 
myself and the children.” 

''I sui)pose the children had so little to eat 
that they looked half starved all the time, didn’t 
they?” 

^‘Half starved! No indeed, they had the round- 
est faces and the fattest little arms of any child- 
ren around.” 

“Did yon pay the grocery and meat hills or 
did your husband?” 

“Why, of course he paid them, what else could 
he do?” 

“Then, if I understand you aright, my sister,” 
said Allan gently, “you left your husband and 
children because he wouldn’t give you the money 
to buy all the clothes you need? Is that right?” 

“O, that’s only one thing. The real reason is 
that I don’t love him. I never did love him. I 
ought never to have married him. I wanted to 
marry another man, but aunt Mary said so much 
against him that I give up to her and married 
John. l>ut I’ve been sorry I did ever since.” 

“That is certainly a sad state of affairs. I 


112 


suppose that is the reason why you left your 
ohildren, too, Mrs. Tentor?’’ 

^‘What do you mean by Svhy?’ ” and the black 
eyes snapped. 

‘'That you didn't love them! You left your 
husband because you no longer love him; you 
have left your children also, and, I suppose, it is 
for the same reason." 

"Td have you know, sir, that I love my child- 
ren as much as any mother. Everybody said T 
kept them as neat as a pin, and they were little 
])ictures, the darlings!” There was a trembling 
of the lips and a moisture in the eye, that showed 
Allan that he had touched the right chord. After 
a moment’s effort at self control she continued : 

“Of course, I couldn’t bring them along. I’ve 
got to make my own way, now, and no one would 
take me if I had the children.’’ 

“I suppose Mr. Henson doesn’t want you to 
have the children, Mrs. Tentor?’’ 

“Mr. Henson! Who told you about him? O, 
I suppose Mr. Smith told you! No, Scott said he 
didn’t care to be bothered with John’s children. 


113 


after we are settled down in our own home. I 
suppose no man wants another man’s cliildren.” 

''I suppose you left the children witii your 
aunt Mary when you started for Omaha. How 
old is your aunt, now, Mrs. Tentor?’’ 

‘‘Why do you ask such a question? She’s pretty 
near fifty.’’ 

“How long did you live with her?” 

“Ever since I was a little girl. My mother died 
when I was only five.” 

“Your aunt has been good to you, hasn’t she, 
Mrs. Tentor?” 

“Yes, yes, she’s been like a mother to me.” Mrs 
Tentor felt for her handkerchief and the next 
moment was taking a woman’s relief in tears. 
Allan felt that the victory was more than half 
won. 

“Mrs. Tentor, my sister,” he said, firmly, “I’ve 
come all the way from Buxter here to talk witli 
you. Of course you may say it’s none of my 
business and it is not, -but in a true sense it is. 
I am not here to take your part or your hus- 
band’s part. T am willing to believe all you say. 


114 


But you say he has never struck you and that you 
you and the children have plenty to eat. Let me 
tell you, Mrs. Tentor, that many wives are botli 
starved and beaten and yet, for the sake of their 
children, they bear these troubles. Think of what 
you have done! Left your husband, whom you 
promised before God and the assembled witness- 
es to love and honor and cherish till death; 
think of those two sweet little children, your 
babies, whom you have left to the care of your 
aunt, already feeling the infirmities of age. It 
wasn’t enough, apparently, that slie has been 
a mother to you, you must take your babies to 
lier and with a falsehood in your heart say, as 
I suppose you did, ^‘Auntie won’t you take care 
of the children today while I go to Omaha for 
some shopping?” You have burdened you old 
aunt with your children!” 

Mrs. Tentor was sobbing, now, with her head 
on her breast, unable to make reply. 

^^Think of those dear little children! Mere 
babies. The little black haired boy only four. He 
looks like you doesn’t he? Has your eyes and 


115 


hair. Of course you love him, you can’t help it. 
When you dressed him up in his new little sailor 
suit, and, with the baby in the buggy, walked 
along the street, no mother was prouder of her 
children than you. I’ll warrant. Of course you 
loved them! There were times, I suppose, when 
they made lots of extra work and gave you plenty 
of trouble to care for them, do your house work 
and sewing too, and, sometimes, you thought they 
wer(^ more bother than they were worth, but you 
really did not mean it. They made lots of work, 
but when the little boy put his arms around your 
neck and hugged you or patted your cheek, and 
said in his sweet baby way, ^Titty mamma I love 
you !” you were paid for all your work and anx- 
iety. Isn’t it true?” Redoubled sobs was the only 
answer. 

^^I’ve no doubt,” Allan continued, ^That your 
heart has hungered for your babies every hour 
since you left them, if only you permit yourself 
to think for a moment. You had steeled yourself 
against them, said you must not think of them, 
but, I am certain, you have thought of them many 


116 


times, and you would have given a great deal to 
see them, for just a minute, to know whether 
they are all right or not. Isn’t it true?” No ans- 
wer. The handkerchief had long since been wet 
w ith tears. 

^dlut that isn’t all, my sister,’’ Allan continued. 
‘‘You not only have not forgotten them, but you 
never can forget them, and that you, their mother 
left tliem wdien they w^ere babies. God has so 
made us that there are somethings we never can 
forget, and the memory of your babies will fol- 
low' you around the wmiid, to your grave, and 
forever. You never can get away from it. You 
think you can, but you’ll find out. You’ll think 
of them by day and dream of them by night! 
You’ll wake with a start because you heard 
the baby crying, or the little boy calling “Mam- 
ma! Mamma!” 

“Oh, don’t, please don’t!” sobbed the poor 
w^oman. 

“I must,” Allan replied and the tears stood 
in his eyes,' “it is true, and how^ever it may pain 
you, now, it is much better to look the facts in 


117 


the face, when you may still go back an honest 
woman, than to wait until it is too late. You 
are a member of the church, Mrs. Tentor, and you 
know your duty. I’ll warrant that you have not 
asked the Lord whether it was right for you to 
take this step. You knew well enough it was 
wrong. And why do you take this frightful risk? 
For love of a man who has a sweetheart in every 
town on his run. Oh, of course, he loves you 
more than all the others put together, or, at 
least, he tells you so. You ought to know whether 
it is true or not. But even if it is, he may tire of 
you very soon, such men generally do; they are 
taken with the last pretty face, and then you’ll 
be deserted in turn.” 

Allan felt that he had said enough, perhaps too 
much, and that he must leave. She would not 
promise to write to her husband, but did promise 
amidst her sobs, to think about it. Allan stood by 
her, hat in hand, and said: ^‘My sister, you 
are a fugitive, — a fugitive from duty. Go home; 
go back to your husband, your children and, — 
your God!” 


118 


She made no further promise, but Allan felt 
that she would go, and was glad, as he rode 
back to Chester, that he had been permitted to 
plead with this mother on behalf of her husband 
and children, yes, and her self. 

He found the train connections back to Huxter 
so poor that it was the evening of the next day 
before he reached home. He had written Rev 
Smith of the interview and his belief that she 
would return. His heart was made glad, two 
weeks later, by word that she had returned. He 
was nearly seven dollars out of pocket, but he 
thought it a good investment. 


CHAPTER NINE 


Widoiv Cabhitfs Line Fence 

Jim Boyd'S saloon, in Buxter, being the near- 
est to the station had the largest patronage, and 
was for other reasons the leading saloon of the 
town. Boyd w as the man w^ho dictated in many 
ways the policy of the village, and was thus the 
political boss. The saloon was on the south end 
of the lot, on the corner. The north end of the 
lot W'US vacant. 

The next lot west was owned by Widow Cab- 
bitt, a member of Allan^s church who had a large 
family and eked out the small pension w’^hich she 
received as a soldier^s widow by taking in wash- 
ing. 

Mrs. Cabbitt’s house was large, but none too 
large for her family and stood on the north end 
of her lot, facing the street running east and 


west, and tlius opposite the vacant end of Boyd’s 
lot. 

One day in the summer, Mrs. Cabbitt called up- 
on Allan, at his boarding place, and asked his 
advice as to a proposition which Mr. Boyd had 
made, to trade his three room cottage much 
farther from the center of the town, for her house 
and lot. He offered to give her |300 to boot. 
Allan confessed his ignorance of real estate 
values in Baxter, and advised her to consult 
some business man in whom she had confidence 
and said: 

‘^But, Mrs. Cabbitt, how could you and your 
family possibly live in three small rooms? I 
would advise you to go very slowly, indeed, in 
making such a trade.” So Mrs. Cabbitt told Mr. 
Boyd that she did not care to trade. 

A few day passed and again Mrs. Cabbitt call- 
ed. This time she was plainly worried. Mr. Boyd 
claimed, she said, that a mistake had been made 
in placing the fence between the two lots. Be- 
cause his lot was a corner lot, it was six feet 
wider than the one next to it. Mrs. Cabbitt, there- 


121 


fore, had six feet of his lot and he proposed to 
move tlie fence over to where it belonged, and 
that would make it quite close to Mrs. Cabbitt’s 
house. 

'^Doesn’t your deed state the width of your 
lot, Mrs. Tabbitt?’- Allan asked, filled with fore- 
boding. 

^^Oh, I don’t know, Mr .Fairly. I never looked.’' 

‘^You have your deed at home, haven’t you?” 

‘^Yes sir, but I never thought to look at it.” 

‘‘Well, we’ll have to get at the facts, Mrs. Cab- 
bitt, before we can do anything one way or an- 
other. Of course, if he is right, I do not see how 
you can help yourself, but we’ll be very certain 
that he is right before we give up. I’ll be down 
this afternoon, right after dinner. You find your 
deed and we’ll see what it says.” 

The widow left apparently much comforted, 
but Allan was worried. It did not seem possible 
that Boyd would make such a claim unless he was 
certain of his right, and yet, might it not be that 
he was trying to compel the poor widow to come 
to his terms? Might he not presume upon the 


122 


fact of her poverty, her scarcity of money, ex- 
cepting when the small pension came, to try to 
frighten her into accepting his terms for the 
property. It did not seem possible that any man 
would be mean enough to try to take such an ad- 
vantage of a poor widow and yet, it even looked 
probable. He talked with his friend, Mr. Smith, 
the Sunday School Superintendent, who was of 
the opinion that Boyd probably knew what he 
was talking about, and perhaps the best thing 
Mrs. Cabbitt could do was to accept his offer. 

The deed was found to give the number of the 
lot, but said nothing as to its width. Allan went 
outside and was stepping off the lots, in order to 
get an estimate of their width, when Mr Boyd 
cann‘ out the side door of his saloon and wanted 

to know what in the he was doing. Boyd 

was evidently bordering on intoxication, if he 
had not long since crossed the border, and the in- 
solence of his tone roused Allan as he had not 
been since he and Jake Young exchanged pleas- 
antries in the hall. 

^^Mrs. Cabbitt says that you claim six feet of 


123 


her lot, Mr. Boyd/’ Allan replied. am simpiy 
4?uessing at the width of both of them according 
to the fence there.” 

''Yes, she’s got six feet of my lot there. Slie’s 
had it for years. I’m goin’ to move my fence to 
day where it belongs, but it aint none of your 
business, that I can see.” 

Allan replied as quietly as he could: ^AVell, 
you see, Mrs. Cabbitt is a member of my church, 
and she naturally looks to me, as her pastor, for 
advice. I’m simply trying to get at the facts in 
the case.” 

^‘And I tell you, Mr. Preacher, that it aint 
none of your business!” 

Allan was angry. He looked Boyd steadily in 
the eye for a second and said in his heart, ^^I’d 
give ten dollars if I wasn’t a preacher for about 
ten minutes. I’d whip you, you scoundrel, or you 
would me.” He even picked the spot at the base 
of the saloon keeper’s ear where he wished to 
hit him first. Then came a vision of the disgrace 
he would bring upon his Master’s cause, of how 
the papers would enlarge upon ‘^a scrap between 


124 


a preacher and a saloon keeper,’’ and thus was 
restrained from violence. 

But he walked up to Boyd, brought his hand 
down upon his shoulder, none too gently, and 
said while his eyes flashed : 

^^And I’ll tell you one thing, Mr. Boyd, and 
don’t you forget it ! If that six feet of land really 
belongs to you, all right, you can have it; but 
if it doesn’t. I’ll make it the dearest piece of land 
in this town before you get it. Just put that in 
your pipe!” 

Allan turned and walked away, paying no at- 
tention to Boyd’s muttered curses, and fright- 
ened at the storm of anger which filled his brtiast. 

^^The dirty scoundrel !” he said to himself as he 
walked along. ^‘It isn’t enough for him to try tc* 
cheat that poor woman out of her property, but 
he must curse me for taking her part. I’ll give 
him a fight for it if it costs me every friend I 
have in the town. I’ll get my church to help me, 
and we’ll stand by the poor woman and see that 
she has her rights.” 

First of all, he must be sure of the facts, if 


possible. He hunted the town over for a plat 
which would give the width of the lots, but none 
could be found. Probably because there was 
none, and, possibly, because they were unwilling 
to let him see it. 

He consulted the church officers, urging that 
the church as a body rally to Mrs. Cabbitt’s de- 
fense and see that she was protected in her rights. 
He met with nothing but discouragement. The 
officers had no doubt that Boyd was in the right. 
They were sorry for Mrs. Cabbitt, of course, 
e^ ery one knev' she had a hard struggle to k^‘ep 
her family, but it would never do for them as a 
church, or as individuals to take any part. 
would hurt business,’^ said Allan’s best friend. 
^^The saloon can control a lot of people here and 
if I was to go into this fight, they wouhl Imycott 
our store.” 

In short, Allan learned within a few hours 
that with the exception of one good old man, he 
stood alone, in defense of Mrs. (’abbitt. Grand- 
father (Cowley said, ^Blrother Fairly is right, and 
the churches ought to stand by him.” But the 


126 


overwhelming sentiment of the town was in the 
churches and out, ^^Let the preacher tend to his 
own business.” But Allan thought he was at- 
tending to his own business. If it Avas not his 
business as a Christian man and a minister to 
stand by a j)oor widoAv in distress and see that 
she had her rights, he did not know that he had 
any business in Buxter tliat was worth while. 
At any rate, lie would make it his business. 

That same afternoon, Mr. Boyd proceeded to 
carry out his threat, moved the line six feet west 
and put up a tight board fence sixteen feet high, 
which so completely darkened the greater part 
of both kitchen and dining room that the family 
Avas compelled to use a lamp, excepting in the 
middle of the day. And it so happened that every 
time Allan passed the saloon, for the next few 
days, Mr. Boyd was either in his doorAvay or 
near by, and looked upon his enemy with a leer 
of triumph that Allan found hard indeed to bear 
patiently. 

Poor Avidow Cabbitt Avas so frightened by the 
overshadoAA ing fence that she was almost ready 


127 


to capitulate and let Boyd have the property on 
his own terms, but Allan cheered her with, 
*AVhy, Mrs. Cabbitt this fight is just begun. We 
haven’t got our sleeves rolled up yet,” and the 
widow went back to her washing by the light of 
a lamp. 

It would seem that some one might have raised 
the question as to just why Mr. Boyd had gone to 
the expense of putting up a high board fence 
which enclosed nothing ; and some might possibly 
have protested mildly against such a waste of 
lumber; and, of course, as to the widow’s rights 
ill the matter no one cared or dared to say a 
word, at least, none that came to Allan’s ears. 

It was all well enough to assure Mrs. Cabbitt 
that the fight had just begun, that he hadn’t his 
sleeves rolled up yet, but the fact was that he did 
not know where to turn for the help he needed. 
Very probably, the case would go to court, there 
would be a bill of expense of some kind 
whicli the widow could not afford to pay, but 
neither could Allan for that matter. He need- 
ed a man with property and a moral backbone to 


128 


help iu the fight. Then a happy thought came to 
him as most happy thoughts come, like an in- 
spiration. There was the man he v/antefi, 'Sir. 
White of Wolf Creek Valley, a man with a real 
backbone instead of an apology iu the form of 
gristle. He would see Mr. White, tell him all 
about the matter and ask for his help. Mr. AVhite 
listened quietly as a man of his character al- 
ways does, although Allan could see the flame of 
a righteous indignation glow and burn in his 
eyes, as he understood the situation. ^‘Why 
Brother White,’’ Allan concluded, could never 
look myself in the face again, if I stood by and 
permitted Boyd to cheat that x)oor woman out 
of her x)roperty. I think it a dastardly outrage.” 

^AVhat do you want me to do. Elder?” 

want you to stand by me in this thing. There 
may be quite a fight for all that I can tell. You 
have property and will be responsible. We'll hire 
a lawyer and fight the thing till kingdom come.’’ 

‘‘Hoav much do you think it Avill cost. Elder?’' 
do not know. Brother White, x>erha])s a 


hundred dollars.” 


129 


stand by you if it costs me five hundred.’’ 

^^Thank God! I’ve found a real man,” said 
Allan fervently, his eyes filling. And so a council 
of war was held. It was agreed that the first 
thing necessary was to get the facts as to the 
width of the lots according to the county records. 
^Ir. White had a nephew, a young attorney just 
beginning practice. He would ask him to investi- 
gate the matter, also the law and then they would 
be prepared to plan further. 

For some reason there was delay; almost a 
week passed and the high board fence, which 
enclosed nothing, still darkened Mrs. Cabbitt’s 
kitchen and dining room. Allan urged her to bear 
it a while longer and say nothing to anyone. He 
was very much mistaken if Mr. Boyd did not 
hear something drop real hard before long.” 

Then came the attorney’s letter saying that 
he had examined the records in the ofiSce of the 
register of deeds and the lots were both the same 
width, each forty-four feet. The corner lot had 
no advantage over the widow’s. 

Both Mr. White and Allan thought it best to 


130 


be very Riire of their ground and so the attorney 
was refjuested to make sure that there was no 
mistake as much depended upon the exact facts. 
This (‘aused more delay, but again the attorney 
assured them that the lots were both the same 
width. 

^^Now, Elder,” said Mr. White, as they talked 
it over, am not quite as quick tempered as 
you are, so, perhaps, I'd better show this letter 
to Boyd, and advise him to take down the fence.” 
Allan agreed to this, and Mr. White soon stood 
in the door of Boyd’s saloon, with the letter in 
his hand. He never entered a saloon even on bus- 
iness, if he could possibly avoid it. 

Boyd came to the door, surprised at seeing 
such a visitor, but still more surprised Avhen he 
read the contents of the letter. Indeed he was 
the most surprised man in Buxter and as ^Ir. 
White said afterwards ^Tell all into a heap” 
metaphorically speaking. He had been confident 
that all he needed to win the victory Avas to hold 
on and the Avidow Avon Id be compelled to accept 
his terms. He had no suspicion that Allan had 


been keeping np the fight, and to find that he had 
secured the help of so substantial a man as Mr. 
White and that they had engaged a lawyer that 
indeed was totally unexpected. 

“My advice to you, Mr. Boyd,’’ said Mr. White, 
in his mild way, “is to move your fence back to 
the line and cut it down to the lawful height. 
1 think, under the present circumstances, from 
what Jack says, that you are liable for damages.” 

Boyd was now as frightened as he had been 
surprised. He gathered himself together as best 
he could and hastened to say: — 

“I’ll do it, Mr. White, I’ll ’tend to it today.” 

And so the battle was won. The attorney 
would make no charge, glad to accommodate 
his uncle, and the whole cost had been all of four 
cents for two postage stamps, which expense 
Allan and his friend laughingly divided between 
them. Boyd was as good as his word, and within 
only a few hours the sixteen foot fence was torn 
down and a much more modest one of only four 
feet in height put up on the right line. 

Buxter could hardly believe its eyes. Mrs. Cab- 


132 


bitt had been in the right, after all; Jim Boyd 
had been whipped. Who would have believed it 
possible! A number of those who had been most 
insistent that Allan should attend to his own 
business, came around, slapped him on the 
shoulder and said: 

^A"ou did just right, Mr. Fairly, you did just 
right For some reason, Allan did not feel very 
happy over these compliments. He thanked them, 
of course, but in his heart he said: ^A^'es, but 
v'here were you when I needed you?” 

Mr. Boyd no longer had a leer on his face when 
Allan passed his saloon, but instead there 
was a look of anxiety. Allan was told that for 
weeks, and for the first and last time in the 
history of Buxter, a saloon keeper actually obey- 
ed the law. Boyd refused to sell to minors or to 
drunkards, closed at the lawful hour each night, 
forbid gambling in his saloon and kept closed 
tight all day Sunday. He was afraid that Mr. 
White and Allan would prosecute him. It may 
be said, too, that Mrs. Cabbitt’s line fence re- 
mains to this day just forty-four feet from the 


133 


corner. 

These were by no means all of the adventures 
which befell the enthusiast, but whether it has 
l)een worth while to tell of these, and especially 
.diet her any more shall be told, must be left to 
the decision of others. The reader who cares to 
kiiow may be assured that, with slight changes, 
these adventures are true both in substance and 
in fact. 




SEEKING THE KINGDOM 

A STUDY 

By Rev. Ernest Everett Day 

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and simple guide to Christian living as pointed in the 
experience of the early Christians, by the best present 
day religious thought, and by the precepts and acts of 
the Master Himself.” 

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fully and simply the exegetics of Christian doctrine 
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reader.” 

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thoughts on the Kingdom of God. It is a valuable 
help to ministers and other students of the Word.” 

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tation.” 


135 


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publishers. ” 

Cloth postpaid $1.00. 

THE TRI-STATE PUBLISHING CO. 
Excelsior, Minnesota. 

FOLLOWING THE MASTER 

SHORT STUDIES IN THE CHRISTIAN LIFE 

By Rev. Ernest Everett Day 

The Outlook: “These studies of the teachings of Jesus, 
originally prepared by a pastor for his mid-week bible 
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they are certainly deserving. As an exhibition of the 
Master’s ideal of life they explain and illustrate what it 
means to be a Christian.” 

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ing to aid young people in Following the Master.” 

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Master.”— “It furnishes a valuable outline for the 


136 


study of essentia] truths. It will surely prove of great 
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'• Cloth postpaid 50c. 

THE TRI-STATE PUBLISHING CO. 
Excelsior, Minnesota. 




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